


A Life of Dreams

by KCUrquhart



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: After the Movie, Depression, Fic within a Fic, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Heartbreak, M/M, with some happy moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 48,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KCUrquhart/pseuds/KCUrquhart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew the two words were coming, but he still wasn't ready to hear them. Wasn't ready for the aching hole in his chest where his heart used to be. Wasn't ready to lose the one thing he'd fought so hard to get back to. But the words came anyway. "Phil's dead."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Words

The skin at the base of Clint's neck tingles. Someone was watching him. He knew who it was. He hadn't heard any footsteps and only two people in the world were quiet enough for him not to hear.

"Wake up, Barton." Clint nearly jumped out of his skin at hearing Fury's voice. Make that three people. He slowly opened one eye, hoping his shock hadn't been too obvious, and looked up at Fury. Clint was reclining on the sofa in Phil's office, like he did after every mission, or any day really, waiting for Phil to come yell at him for skipping another debriefing.

"Good morning, sir. Is there a problem?" The sir slipped out before he could stop it. He was almost too tired to care about Fury's small smile at the word. It'd been a long week. He'd just have to make up for it with more snark later.

"Sit up."

Clint groaned but shifted to follow the order. He only half-assed it though, slouching half over the armrest still. Couldn't let Fury think he was becoming a proper agent. To Clint's surprise Fury sat down next to him. He seemed as tired as Clint was. But it was more than fatigue; it was like he was at a loss for words. This fact alone sent a wave of fear through Clint. He suppressed a shudder but couldn't stave off the coldness that gripped his heart.

"What is it?" Clint was sitting straight upright now, no longer caring about anything beyond the two words he knew were coming next. The two words he'd dreaded hearing for so long. The words that would explain why Phil hadn't been in the field today; why he hadn't come to see Clint once he'd gotten free of Loki; why Clint had been asleep in this office for four hours without any sign of Phil. He knew the two words were coming, but he still wasn't ready to hear them. Wasn't ready for the aching hole in his chest where his heart used to be. Wasn't ready to lose the one thing he'd fought so hard to get back to. But the words came anyway.

"Phil's dead."

And just like that his world ended. Time stopped. He wasn't breathing. His heart wasn't beating. The only thing that existed, the only thing that mattered was that Phil Coulson was dead. And it was his fault.

The tears didn't come until later that night, when he was curled up in his bunk at HQ. The room was dark and empty; he'd barely ever used it. Which was exactly why he'd chosen it now. There were no memories here. Nothing to haunt or torture him. Nothing to distract him from the knowing shame and hopelessness that burned through his veins.

Natasha slipped in at three in the morning. She didn't say anything, just climbed into his bunk and laid down next to him. He curled up into her waiting arms. She stayed there the rest of the night, holding him. She never said a word, no comfort or sympathy, just let him cry himself to sleep. He loved her for that.

;;;

_"What do you think you're doing Barton?" Coulson snapped. He sounded exasperated. Clint had just dropped down from the ceiling of his office, scaring the junior agent who'd been bringing Coulson coffee. The coffee and case files she'd been holding were now scattered around the room._

_"Testing preparedness and reaction skills of junior agents, sir." Clint quoted back the line from somewhere in one of the dozen or so handbooks he'd never fully read. He saw Coulson blink slowly and take a breath that was just a fraction heavier than his usual breathing. His version of a sigh._

_"Section 23 only applies while in the training center, Barton."_

_Clint at least had the decency to look sheepish as the junior agent finished gathering her things and all but sprinted from the room. As soon as she was gone Coulson closed the office door. The glare that Coulson shot at Clint was enough to knock him backwards into the sofa._

_"I really don't know what to do with you anymore, Barton." Coulson sat on the edge of his desk and rubbed his eyes. Clint noted the dark circles that ringed them. He looked tired. More tired than Clint had ever seen him. It scared him. Coulson had always seemed so invincible, able to brush off anything. Clint had never seen even the slightest sign of weakness from his handler._

_"I'm sorry, sir. I know I can be a handful." He saw Coulson raise an eyebrow skeptically. "All right, a bit more than a handful, but I can't help it – "_

_"And that's the problem!" Coulson burst out. "You can't help it! You act like you do because that's just who you are. You're impulsive and immature and have no concept of consequence." Coulson was pacing the office, more animated than Clint knew he could be. "You've been shuffled through nearly a half dozen handlers before getting passed on to me because, for some reason no one understands, I'm the only person you'll actually listen to in the field. I don't enjoy being a handler. I don't like feeling like a glorified babysitter. I don't like having to do more paperwork with one asset than handlers with a dozen. I don't like feeling like I can never be at ease in my own office because I don't know if you're in my ceiling or not. Or if you're going to drop down on an agent who has only been has only been here a week!"_

_"I'm sorry." Clint mumbled. He hadn't realized he'd been pissing Coulson off this much. He'd only been messing around. Like he always did. It was the only way he knew how to be._

_"Honestly, Barton, sometimes I wonder why we put up with you."_

_The words hit Clint like a runaway truck. He'd been rejected before. Quite often. He was used to it, expected it. But not from Coulson. They'd been working together for almost two years. They worked well together and trusted each other in the field. They'd even gone out for pizza once or twice outside of work. He was the closest thing to a friend Clint had. The closest thing he allowed himself to have after everything in his past. He felt old walls going up as this new rejection sunk in._

_"Fine." Clint choked out the word with a quick nod. He stood up and crossed to the door. If Coulson didn't want him here then he wouldn't stay. He flung open the door and let it slam shut behind him. He thought he heard Coulson swear in the office but it didn't matter. Coulson had rejected him, just like everyone else._

_;;;_

Clint bolted up in bed, hyperventilating and in a cold sweat. Natasha ran a hand through his hair, whispering to him calmly. After a minute his heart started to slow and his muscles relaxed. He lay back down and turned over as Tasha wrapped her arms around him. He felt her breath on the back of his neck, tickling the skin like Phil's breath always had. The thought sent a fresh wave of grief through him but he didn't shift. He closed his eyes and let himself imagine, just for a second, that it was Phil's arms around him.

His mind went to his nightmare. He'd had nightmares before, nearly every night, about work or his childhood. They were the only dreams he ever remembered. He'd never once dreamt about Phil. He wasn't even sure if the dream counted as a dream since it was actually a memory. A horrible memory. It had been one of Clint's lowest moments in life. But Phil was in it, and how could he call anything involving Phil a nightmare? He still hadn't decided what to call it when he drifted back to sleep.

;;;

_Clint was in the shooting range, packing away his bow. He'd be damned if he'd leave it behind. Hell, SHIELD practically owed it to him. And they'd have no use for it once he left. No one else was any good with it. He placed it gently into the sleek black carrying case. Resisting the urge to grab his quiver of special arrows, he flung the case over his shoulder and headed for the elevator._

_He tapped his foot impatiently, watching the numbers count downward as the elevator descended to the main floor. He'd considered taking his SHIELD issued SUV but decided against it for much the same reason he'd left the quiver of arrows. They were SHIELD property and he didn't want them to have any reason to come after him. He'd overstayed his welcome enough as it was._

_The elevator doors dinged open and he crossed the glistening marble lobby. He strode out the glass doors and along the crowded city streets, keeping his head down and mind clear. It hurt too much to think about today, about the two years he'd spent finally feeling at home. Trying not to think about it only made the thoughts press more urgently on his heart and mind. By the time he reached his apartment he was fighting back tears._

_He fumbled with the key, trying to deny that his vision was blurred. Ten minutes and he'd be packed and gone. He didn't have much, a few old mementos and a spare change of clothes. Just pack his things and disappear, like he'd done so many times before._

_He finally unlocked the door and pushed inside the tiny apartment. The second the door closed behind him his knees failed and he collapsed to the floor. Tears were streaming down his face now. He curled up on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest. He'd been stupid to think anyone would ever want him; to trust anyone; to let himself feel at home. Never again. Never. Not ever. He'd never let anyone close again._

_"Just because you can be a pain in my ass doesn't mean I don't want you."_

_Clint looked up to see Coulson perched on the edge of a barstool in the kitchen. Clint buried his head back into his knees. He must have been muttering his thoughts aloud. Great. Way to go Clint. Revealing just how fucked up you are to the person who just rejected you. "You said you didn't know why you put up with me. You said I was immature and selfish and more trouble than I'm worth." Clint croaked, his voice raw from the tears._

" _I was frustrated. I would prefer at least a little notice when you plan on using my office as a nest is all." Coulson sighed and rubbed his temples. "I've been working on something for Fury and haven't gotten much sleep this week. It's a piss-poor excuse, I know. I'm sorry."_

_Clint rolled up so that his back was against the wall but kept his knees curled to him protectively. Like somehow they could shield him from the pain Coulson's words were causing. He knew Coulson was trying to backpedal, he'd seen it before. Someone trying to take back the truth that had slipped out on accident. Trying to keep him around as a plaything for a little while longer. "Doesn't change the fact that you don't want me… How did you know I'd be here anyway?" It was still the middle of the afternoon. As far as SHIELD was concerned he was supposed to be at HQ._

" _About half a second after you stormed out of my office I realized how big of a mistake I'd made. I saw you packing on the security feeds and went to the range to find you and apologize but you'd already left. So I came here. I've been waiting a while. I was beginning to think you'd ditched town without coming back for any of your stuff." Coulson's voice was as flat as always but Clint thought he could hear a bit of strain behind it. He wrote it off as his imagination. Coulson's only strain at the moment was the fear of Clint's disappearance reflecting badly on him at work._

" _Yeah, well, you can have it." Clint sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes. Anger was starting to replace the sadness. It always did eventually. It pissed him off that this had happened enough times in his life for him to have a familiar pattern of reaction. "I don't need this crap. Any of it." Clint aimed the last part at Coulson. He thought he saw the man's mouth twitch._

" _Barton." Coulson whispered the name. He crossed the room and knelt down next to Clint. Coulson reached out a hand to touch Clint's shoulder but he shied away from it and Coulson dropped it with a sigh. "I forget sometimes, how fragile you are. How many times you've been used or abused then tossed aside like a piece of garbage." A strangled gasp escaped Clint's lips. "I'm sorry that I was insensitive. I'm sorry for making you feel like you don't belong at SHIELD."_

_That was the final straw. The one thing beyond all else that Clint couldn't bear to hear right now. He didn't belong at SHIELD. He didn't belong anywhere. Coulson had proved that to him today. He was sick of being mistreated, sick of the abuse, sick of being seen as just a tool to be used, but he could handle it. He was used to it. What he couldn't handle was being seen as weak. "You shouldn't have to tiptoe around me like I'm a piece of fucking china!" Clint screamed. He saw Coulson flinch slightly. "You shouldn't have to be thinking about my fucked up past! I know I'm messed up. I know I'm broken. I know I'm –" The word caught in Clint's throat. "I'm useless."_

" _No!" Coulson's hands were on either side of Clint's face, turning his head so that they were staring eye-to-eye. "You are many things, Clint Barton. You are the wittiest, happiest man I've ever met. You love life more than anyone. You live moment to moment because you understand how uncertain the idea of a future is. You are a strong and kind-hearted person who has been through Hell on more than one occasion and has come out even stronger and kinder. Not to mention that you just happen to be the best damn shot with a bow in recorded history." Clint smiled a little at the compliments, not fully believing them. "You are many things, Clint Barton, but you are not useless." Coulson's lips twitched, like he wanted to add something but he stayed quiet._

" _Does this mean you still want me?" Clint smirked and Coulson's lips twisted up into a smile._

" _Yes, Barton. God knows why, and people will call me a masochist for saying this, but I actually enjoy being your handler."_


	2. Tired of Losing

Clint's eyes flicked open as Natasha rolled out of the bunk. A quick glance at the clock on the far wall told him it was nearly lunchtime. Tasha always woke with the sun, even when in a pitch black room like this one. She must have lain beside him for hours, not wanting any movement to wake him. She turned and smiled gently up at him. "Sorry, but I have a meeting with the team. I'll be back as soon as I can. Do you want me to bring you anything?"

Clint shook his head. "I should go too." He was still part of the team after all. Losing Phil didn't change the fact that he still had duties to perform. He started to sit up but Tasha pushed him back down with one hand.

"You are not coming." It was a command with no room for negotiation.

"But I don't want –" Clint struggled with the words. He couldn't think past the ache in his chest and his eyes started to blur from tears. It'd been so long since he'd felt so utterly hopeless. And he couldn't blame anyone else for it. It was all his fault. No one had told him yet how Phil had died and he didn't need them to. He'd gotten the gist of it from the whispered rumors that had swirled around him as he'd made his way to his barrack the night before. Their whispers only confirmed the truth of his guilt.

"I know." Tasha ran a hand over his head, smoothing his hair. "I'll only be gone a few minutes, Clint. Then I'll be right back. I promise." Clint forced himself to smile and nod and Tasha slipped silently from the room.

The moment she was gone the silence pressed down on him like a weight. He clamped his hands over his ears, trying to keep it out. It was too quiet. Too empty. He was alone now, truly alone. And he would be forever. Because the one man he'd ever truly loved was gone and he was never coming back. The hole where Clint's heart had been exploded as sobs wracked his body. The tears stopped eventually and left his eyes tired and too heavy to keep open.

;;;

_"Eyes on target." Clint whispered into the comms._

_"Copy that, Barton. Fire at will." Coulson's voice replied. Clint focused and a second later a small 'pop' as he squeezed the trigger. He watched through the scope as the figure dropped to the ground. "Good work. Now let's go."_

_Clint disassembled the rifle and packed it into a black backpack that he slung over his shoulder before running from the abandoned warehouse. Coulson was waiting in a black sedan in an alley two blocks over. He didn't wait for Clint to close the door before putting the car into gear and maneuvering out into traffic._

_"You're supposed to wait until I'm actually in the car to start driving. That's sort of Getaway Driver 101."_

_Coulson barely even glanced over at him. "If you were quicker it wouldn't be a problem."_

_"I take exactly as much time as it takes to get the job done right."_

_"Plus an extra 30 seconds for sarcasm and gloating."_

_"I can up it to a full minute if you'd prefer?" Clint teased._

_Coulson's mouth twitched. "Not unless I get to double how much of your own paperwork you do."_

_"Right then, 30 seconds it is."_

_"Thought so."_

_Clint turned on the radio as Coulson turned onto the expressway. He flipped through the stations until he found the one he thought would most annoy Coulson. He cranked the volume and rolled down the window, stretching his feet out of it. He leaned back and closed his eyes. "This is the life."_

_"Behave yourself." Coulson pushed a button and Clint yelped and scrambled to move his feet as the window started to close._

_"Not cool." Clint pouted._

_"I'll make up for it by buying Chinese for dinner."_

_Clint perked up. "From that place down by the river?"_

_"Sure."_

_They'd eaten there the first day they'd gotten to town and Clint had tried to get Coulson to eat there for every meal since. Which had been quite a lot considering the mission was now in its second month. During that time Clint had seen more than a dozen men drop dead under his scope. The men were supposedly a terrorist cell. At least, Clint thought that was what the dossier had said. He let Coulson handle the boring technical stuff, like paperwork. He just fired the gun._

_Clint hopped into the shower when they got back to their hotel room as Coulson went to pick up the Chinese. He let the hot water engulf him. The steam and noise of the water hitting the ceramic tiles always had a way of clearing his mind. He'd done some of his best thinking in the shower. Not that he would admit to actually having thoughts. Most people considered him a trigger-happy idiot and he liked it that way. People who underestimated him were easier to kill._

_Safe under the torrent of water was the only place Clint allowed his mind to turn towards the future. He could see himself, ten years down the road, still doing missions with Coulson. Still bickering over who's turn it was to pick the place to eat. Or maybe he'd do work at HQ, like training new recruits with Coulson. He could almost hear the long lectures Coulson would give him about convincing the recruits that Fury had a habit of sending the recruit who scored the lowest on assignment to Antarctica. Or maybe he'd just retire and move someplace tropical. He had enough money in his bank account that he could probably buy half of a private island. And then Coulson could buy the other half._

_Clint's eyes snapped open. Coulson was there, in every future he could see for himself. The man had come to be a lot more than just his handler in the six months since Coulson had convinced Clint not to leave SHIELD. They'd been together constantly. Only apart for a few hours whenever they were between missions and needed to go home to sleep. His dependence on Coulson still surprised him. It scared him too, feeling so attached to someone else._

_The hotel door slammed and Clint turned off the water and wrapped himself in a towel. Coulson had spread the food out on the small table and was shoveling the food into his mouth with a set of chopsticks, eyes glued to the t.v. Clint flopped down in the chair across from him and grabbed his box of food. He looked for a fork, even tipping over the bag and spilling napkins and fortune cookies everywhere but only found another set of chopsticks._

_He could feel Coulson watching him despite the fact that the man's eyes were still on the episode of Hoarders. This was Coulson's idea of a joke. He knew Clint couldn't use chopsticks. He'd nearly poked his own eye out the last time he'd tried._

_"Problem, Barton?" Coulson asked out of the side of his mouth._

_"No!" Clint shot back defensively. He grabbed the chopsticks awkwardly and tried to grab a dumpling. The food just slipped away. He tried again, with even less success. After ten minutes he finally managed to get one halfway to his mouth before it shot across the room._

_"Here." Clint gasped. He hadn't notice Coulson move. He swore that man was secretly a ninja. Coulson's hand reached around from behind Clint and grabbed the chopsticks. Coulson delicately adjusted Clint's fingers around the flimsy pieces of wood. Clint tried very hard not to make a dirty joke about the situation. Coulson helped Clint grab a dumpling and transfer it successfully to his mouth._

_"See? Not that hard." Coulson had edged himself around so that his face was inches from Clint's. Clint swallowed hard and felt his breath hitch. He froze, every muscle tense, fully aware that he was still in just a towel. Coulson must have noticed the change because he paused. Clint bit at the inside of his lip, a nervous habit he hadn't done in years. He saw Coulson's eyes flick down at that movement._

_A commercial came on, blaring a song about fabric softener and breaking the spell of the moment. Coulson sat back in his chair and stared pointedly at the t.v. Clint sighed and gripped the chopsticks tighter. He ate as normally as he could with the foreign utensil. Yes, it was definitely the awkward hold on the chopsticks that was making his hand shake slightly. And he was definitely not remembering how smooth Coulson's hands had felt on his own._

;;;

Clint snapped back to consciousness. He was surprised to see Natasha lying next to him. He must have really been out of it not to feel her come back to bed. He glanced at the red numbers of the wall clock. It was six thirty in the morning. He'd been in his bunk for over 24 hours. His muscles were stiff and he could feel the tingle in his fingers that he got from going too long without firing his bow. He needed to go to the range.

He slipped from the bed, trying not to wake Tasha, but she sat up before his feet hit the floor. She looked him over, trying to assess his mood and, most likely, his emotional stability.

"I need to go shoot." He explained. She nodded and gave a small tilt of her head. Silently asking if he wanted her to come with him. "No. I – I think I can manage. I'm usually alone down there anyway. Shouldn't feel too different."

But it did feel different. From the looks of the people he passed in the hall to the fact that his bow was hanging perfectly on the wall despite his never having unpacked it. He wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He hated when people touched his bow but right now he was glad that he didn't have to spend five minutes getting it out of its case. He grabbed it off the wall and slung a quiver of basic arrows over his shoulder. He strung an arrow and pointed down field towards the target. It was just a small speck at this distance.

He felt an unfamiliar tension rising through his chest as he tried to focus. He tried to force it back but it kept pushing at him. He took a deep breath and drew back his arm anyway. The movement felt like it tore his chest in half. He collapsed to the ground, clutching at his heart and fighting desperately to hold back tears. His bow had clattered to the ground a few feet away. He grabbed at it but couldn't quite reach. He tried to get his feet to cooperate, to inch himself a few inches so he could grab it but to no avail. It was pointless. All of it was pointless. Without Phil he didn't want to shoot, didn't want to eat or fight. His whole body shuddered with exhaustion. He was so tired of fighting and always, always losing.

;;;

_Clint was sitting across from Coulson inside a little café. They were supposed to be watching some man accused of stealing government secrets but Clint was more interested in the basketball game on the t.v. on the far wall. It was the final game of March Madness and his team was still in it. There was a pool in the office and it was down to him and Coulson. The prize wasn't much, just a hundred bucks, but Clint desperately wanted it. Anything for a chance to trump Coulson. It was down to the final seconds and his team was behind by one when Coulson's team fouled. The player stepped up to the line. The first shot bounced out. Clint swore under his breath. Still one shot left, just a tie to push it into overtime. He pleaded for the ball to sink into the net. It went wide, barely hitting the backboard._

_It was only his years of training that kept Clint from launching himself across the table and punching Coulson as the man gave a tiny smile and said, without any hint of emotion, "I win."_


	3. Losing Someone in Budapest

Clint started awake as a hand touched his shoulder. He must have fallen asleep at the range. He rolled over to see Natasha and Steve staring down at him. His heart clenched seeing Captain America. Phil's childhood hero. God. Would everything remind him of Phil? Was there nothing in his life that wasn't completely drenched with memories of the man? A soft sob tore through him and he saw the other two glance at each other worriedly. He saw the pity in their eyes and anger replaced his grief.

Clint pushed himself to his feet, ignoring their outstretched arms. His right foot was numb and he stumbled. Steve reached out to keep him steady but Clint pulled away, nearly throwing himself off balance again. "Fuck you." Clint snapped. He saw that his words had hurt Steve and part of him got a vindictive sort of pleasure from it. They couldn't hover over him if they were off nursing their own wounds. He shot Steve an angry glare as he strode from the room, trying his best to keep his tingling foot under control.

As he walked the anger slipped away, leaving him feeling even guiltier than he had before. It wasn't Cap's fault that Phil was dead. It was his. And Steve had just been trying to help, because that's who he was. If he saw someone in pain, he helped them. He felt a small voice in his head tell him to go back and apologize but his feet wouldn't listen. Instead he wandered the endless hallways of HQ, enjoying the way that the movement seemed to lessen the ache in his chest.

The hallways were teaming with people. None of them spoke to Clint. When they saw him coming they fell silent and moved out of his path. He didn't look at their faces. He knew he'd see the same pity there as he'd seen in Steve and Tasha's faces and he didn't have the energy to handle yelling at all of them. He didn't have the strength to tell them that the thing he hated most in the whole world was pity. That he'd rather that they all acted as if nothing had happened. That they treated him as the same cocky jack-ass that they'd always seen him as.

The fact that he had to deal with this pity without Phil to help him through it was what made it so utterly unbearable. Phil had always been the one to talk Clint down off any ledge. Often quite literally. But there was no Phil now. No one left who was willing to overlook the fact that behind the cockiness, Clint was the most pathetic creature in all of creation. There was no one left to turn to who could understand just how much he had lost. All because he hadn't been paying attention. Because he'd let Loki get to the tesseract. Because he'd slipped up when it mattered the most and Loki had managed to put the scepter to Clint's chest.

He looked up to find himself standing outside Phil's office. It'd only been a day since he'd been sitting in there; since Fury had told him. He placed a hand on the smooth wood, too scared to go in. He knew it'd look exactly as it always had. Fury wouldn't have changed it yet, not without Clint's permission. His hand gripped the cold metal door handle but he didn't turn it. He sighed, a deep shuddering sigh that felt like it took all of the air from his body out with it. He dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead against the door. He couldn't do this. He couldn't survive without Phil. He'd thought it had been torture all the times that he had thought he'd lost Phil during a mission. He thought he'd been prepared for the future they knew one of them would one day have to face. He'd been wrong. He couldn't face a life without Phil.

;;;

_The phone in Clint's hand vibrated. He flipped it open, not bothering to look at who it was. There were only a handful of people who had this number and he somehow doubted that Fury, Hill, or Sitwell were going to call for a chat. "Yello" Clint knew Tasha and Coulson both hated that greeting, so his bases for annoyment were covered._

_"You need to come in Clint." Tasha's voice was curt, her version of worry. He'd only heard it once before. It had been when they were trapped under a collapsed building. They'd both been 100% certain that they were going to die. It'd been a miracle that a beam landed at an odd angle and Coulson had been able to follow their tracking beacons down into the rubble without the entire pile shifting and crushing them all._

_It took Clint a second to realize that Natasha had hung up. He snapped the phone shut and slid on a t-shirt and jeans before sprinting out of his apartment. He drove like a maniac, nearly clipping an old lady who was walking too slowly. (She was so old that it would have been a mercy for Clint to hit her, anyway.) The normal ten minute drive took less than two._

_Natasha was waiting for him when he stepped out of the elevator. The look on her face told him just how serious this was. He followed her silently down the hall as she led him into a conference room. Fury was already there, pacing at the head of the table._

_"Sit down." Fury ordered and Clint sank into his chair without any fuss. Even he knew better than to mess with Fury when it was important. Fury turned to face them, clicking a button in his hand and an image filled the screen behind him. Clint nearly fell out of his chair. It was Coulson, bound and gagged and covered with blood and bruises. Clint's stomach churned with outrage and disgust._

_"Agent Coulson was on assignment in Budapest. His radio communication cut out approximately 32 hours ago. 2 hours ago this image was sent to us along with this message." Fury clicked and the screen was filled with words. Clint released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as Coulson's image disappeared. "It seems that an independent organization has discovered that SHIELD has more money than God and wants some of it. They are asking for $50 million by the end of the week or they will kill Coulson."_

_"We don't negotiate with terrorists." Natasha said flatly. Clint just gaped at her. What did the rule book matter? This was Coulson. They had to get him back. Even if that meant paying these ass-hats $50 million. Hell, he'd gladly go rob every bank on Wall Street if it meant getting Coulson back safely._

_"We don't need to negotiate." Fury interrupted Clint's thoughts. "We have you two." Fury smirked and as his meaning sank in Clint couldn't help but grin. "Wheels up in ten."_

_The plane ride was excruciatingly long. Clint spent most of the trip disassembling and reassembling his gun. He would have felt better with his bow but the gun was more practical for covert ops. A man running around with a bow and arrow didn't exactly blend in. Across the aisle Tasha was just staring out the window. She hadn't spoken since takeoff. He knew she was as worried as he was, even if she was better at hiding it. Still, he still felt a small flame of anger in his gut over what she had said to Fury. How could she even have suggested leaving Coulson?_

_It was like Natasha could read his mind. "I was always going to go after him, Clint." She turned to look at him and he dropped his eyes under her intense gaze. "I needed to see what Fury's plan was. If he was going to leave Coulson, then I needed him to think that we understood his reasoning. That way he wouldn't have bothered looking for us until we were halfway to Budapest." Typical Natasha. Always ten steps ahead of Clint._

_The plane landed just as the sun sank over the horizon. The city was bathed in an eerie backlight that cast long shadows. Clint and Natasha set off into the city alone. A half dozen other SHIELD agents had come with them but would wait out of sight until they'd found Coulson or called for backup._

_They checked into a hotel under their usual aliases and immediately got to work setting up shop. Natasha's suitcase was loaded with more tech than half of the labs at HQ. Within minutes she had pulled up the message the terrorists had sent and was following it back through the internet to triangulate its source. He could hear her talking through a secure line to techs back at HQ who were helping to speed up the process. It was all above Clint's head. Instead he perched himself on the narrow window ledge and studied the street below._

_The streets were still bustling with people. Families herding their children along, in a rush to get home before it got too late and the crazies came out. Groups of friends gearing up for a night on the town. Young couples strolling along hand in hand. So many people just walking along like today was no different than any other. They didn't know that Clint's world was crumbling around him. They didn't know that with each second that ticked away, Coulson's life was one second closer to ending._

_They found the location a few hours later. The kidnappers had used an internet café on the south side of the city. Now Clint was sitting on the roof across the street. The café was unsurprisingly closed, it being 4 am, but the sign said it opened at 6 so Clint would wait. Natasha had left him to his stakeout, muttering something about talking to some contacts. Clint never failed to be amazed at how she seemed to have contacts in every city they went to._

_Clint didn't even fidget during the two hour wait. Normally he would have spent the time talking to Coulson, making plans and swapping stories. This time he reverted back to the days before Coulson had become his handler, when he'd drowned out the drone of dull voices by focusing on the task at hand. He called it 'mission mode.' Coulson had almost laughed the first time Clint had told him about it. But Coulson understood it. The way that the mind emptied of everything except technical calculations. Such as calculating the time it'd take him to get off a shot at someone on the ground, or noting the slightest shift in the wind, or working out escape routes if something went wrong. Mostly though, it involved keeping constant track of every person walking by on the street below._

_At three minutes to 6, Clint watched as a woman opened up the cafe. She was an older woman, mid-sisxties if he had to guess, carrying a large pink floral purse. Not the typical criminal kidnapper type. She looked a little like the grandmother Clint had only ever met in photographs. Same curly white hair and piercing blue eyes he could see all the way from his perch. His insticts told him that she was innocent and he had learned at a very young age just how much he should trust those instincts._

_Clint dropped down the fire escape and landed soflty in the alleyway. He smoothed out his clothes, making sure his pistol was safely out of sight, before crossing the street. The internet cafe was small and cramped. A dozen computers were stationed around the room. At the back was a group of couches across from a long counter. The old woman was behind it, looking up as the bell above the door jingled._

_"Hello, I'm hoping you can help me?" Clint stepped up the the counter with his sweetest smile._

_"Of course, sweetheart. What do you need?" She was British. Probably moved down here when she retired. Clint's mind took in the details as he scanned the room for exits and possible threats._

_"I'm looking for someone who came in here a few days ago..." Clint suddenly realized just how little he had to go on. No name, no face, not even a general description. He pulled out the slip of paper Tasha had written some details on. "It would have been on Tuesday, at around 3:15 in the afternoon?"_

_The woman's smile fell. "I don't know what you're talking about." The woman busied herself straightening a stack of papers. Clint stiffened. The woman knew exactly who he meant, and she'd obviously been threatened into keeping quiet._

_"Please." Clint leaned across the counter and grabbed the woman's hands. "I don't know what they threatened you with, but I promise, if you tell me where they are, there won't be a single one of them left alive to follow through with it."_

_The woman's head jerked up. A small tear was building at the corner of her eye but she blinked it back. "They took my husband... they took George..." Her voice shook. Clint squeezed her hands reassuringly. "They took him. Just a week, they said, and then they'd give him back... But I'm not stupid. I know that they won't... They'll kill him..."_

_"Not if I can get there first."_

_The woman smiled slightly. "I've got a packet here somewhere." She dug around in the shevles under the counter. She pulled out a large manila envelope and slid it across the counter to Clint. "I made it in case they came back for me. It's just a few pictures, but it was the best I could do."_

_"It's more than enough. Thank you." Clint grabbed the envelope and headed for the door. "I'll find him."_

_"Why do you care?" The woman's voice squeaked._

_Clint dropped his head and took a steadying breath, making sure his voice wouldn't fail him. "Because they took someone from me too."_


	4. Into the Ass-hat's Den

_With the pictures, Natasha's contacts, and the SHIELD database it was only three hours until Clint and Natasha were sitting outside an old warehouse in a rundown section of the city. They were watching as shadows moved behind the frosted windows. They'd seen three people enter the building during the two hours they'd been there and counted at least another ten shadows of people inside._

_"What's the plan?" Clint turned to Tasha. Normally, Coulson made the plans. Normally, he'd have briefed them before they'd left the hotel room. Normally, he'd be in their ears right now, issuing orders in his calm voice. Normally, it was the three of them against the world. (At least that was how Clint saw it, despite Coulson's insistance that it was more like SHIELD against the universe and they were just the point team.) But this time wasn't normal. This time the only voice that would be in his ear was Natasha's. There was no one on the side-line making judgement calls. Sure, they had called the other SHIELD agents, but they were now waiting a block away, wisely allowing Clint and Tasha to take the lead._

_The whole situation was very far from normal. Yet the thing that bothered Clint the most was not having Coulson's voice in his ear. They'd been working together almost three years now. Three years of a consistent back-and-forth banter that Clint missed so badly he could feel an ache in his chest. That, on top of the fact that Coulson was inside that warehouse possibly being tortured at this very second, was putting every logistical thought from Clint's mind. Replacing it with the image from Fury's briefing. Coulson, barely conscious, head slumped onto his chest. A black eye barely visible through the dried blood matting the side of his face. His pristine white shirt now torn to shreds and covered in blood. Clint swallowed hard and pushed the image from his mind and tried not to think about how much worse Coulson would look in person._

_"I was thinking along the lines of Beijing." Natasha's words cut through his thoughts, finally banishing them._

_"I'm not familiar with that one, seeing as I was the one being held captive in Beijing." Clint quiped. "Plus, I distinctly remember that plan going to shit and resulting in all three of us having to spend a full week in medical."_

_"But it worked."_

_"Well yeah, in that we lived, but excuse me for not considering walking out with a grand total of six broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and two gunshot wounds a success."_

_"Fine." Tasha snapped. "What do you think?" Clint could tell that Tasha was biting her tongue, holding back the insults she would usually throw at anyone who dared to question her judgement. He appreciated her effort. She knew how hard he was fighting to keep a level head._

_"A mix of Moscow and Tokyo. The good parts."_

_"Seriously?" Clint managed not to smile at Natasha's shock. "You reject Beijing as being too dangerous, but Moscow and Tokyo are okay?"_

_"Yep."_

_Natasha sighed but didn't argue. "Fine. Give me two minutes to get into position." She stood and disappeared silently down the stairs. Two minutes later, on the dot, Clint heard her through the comms. "Ready."_

_"Right. On my cue." Clint said, stepping too easily for comfort into the lead role. "Don't forget, two targets. So no shooting people just because they aren't Coulson."_

_"I am not a child, Barton." Her voice had a hard edge to it. If he kept pushing her he was going to end up paying for it with one of Natasha's creative forms of revenge. "I know what I am doing."_

_"Sorry." Clint hesitated. "Romanov, if things go bad, get Coulson and the civilian out. Do not come back for me. If I fall behind I stay behind. They are the priority. Is that understood?"_

_Natasha sighed in what Clint would have thought was pity if he didn't know Natasha better. "The plan will work, Barton." Clint started to protest, to force her to agree, but she cut him off. "I don't think it is a necessary qualification, but I understand."_

_Clint smiled. At least Coulson would make it out. No matter what happened today. No matter how horribly wrong things went, because they always did, at least he knew that both he and Natasha would do everything in their power to get Coulson and George out alive. No matter the cost. Not that Clint was planning to do any sacrificial heroic stuff, but still, it was good to know. "Thirty seconds, then move."_

_"Copy."_

_The comms fell silent as the two master assassins got to work. (Not that Natasha was ever much of a talker.) Clint ran towards the far corner of the warehouse. He knew Natasha would be doing the same on the opposite side when it was time. They had scoped the building out earlier and knew that despite only having two doors, both heavily guarded, some of the windows on the second floor had been left cracked. One of them had been above a pile of discarded wooden crates, which was where Tasha would head. She would slip inside and find her way to Coulson and the civilain, just like in Tokyo. (And really, they should not get abducted enough to have multiple plans of attack for getting each other out.)_

_Clint's task was to climb to the roof and slip down through the air vents. Cliche, yes, but it had worked in Moscow, so it was worth another shot. Clint slowed as he approached the building, checking to make sure he hadn't been spotted. Seeing no one, he reached up and dug his fingers into a grove between two bricks. The warehouse was made of the old style of bricks, small and red, with the mortar starting to crumble away. Scaling up the side of the building was almost too easy._

_Clint slunk across the roof, pistol held at the ready. He reached the worn metal shaft of the air vent and pried off the grate cover. The screws holding it on were so rusted that it took little effort. He had been keeping a running clock in his head the whole time and counted the thirty just as he slipped into the duct. Natasha would be moving now. He estimated that it would take her less than twenty seconds to get inside. By that time he hoped to have found the main hangout for the bad guys (or ass-hats, since that seemed a much more fitting name)._

_Ten seconds in and Clint was still clamering through the maze of air ducts. Twenty seconds. Thirty. Forty. One minute and he was starting to grow desperate. For being air ducts, there were suprising few air vents and the ones he had found so far led to tiny storage closets. Clint opened his mouth, intending to ask Coulson if they'd gotten a scematic of the building yet, but closed it with a sigh. The silence in his ear felt oppressive. He knew Tasha was there, he had heard her take out an ass-hat who had stumbled across her, but it wasn't the same._

_Clint found a vent that led to a bathroom. Good enough. He kicked at the vent, wincing as the metal slammed onto the tile floor below. He rolled his eyes as Tasha whispered something about his not comprehending the whole 'covert' thing. His feet didn't make a sound as he dropped to the floor, not that it really mattered, and he surveyed the room. The bathroom was tiny and dingy. The single lightbulb hung from a wire and flickered occasionally. Clint almost felt sorry for the ass-hats. They obviously needed the money. But they had made the crucial mistake of kidnapping and torturing Coulson. And that couldn't be forgiven._

_The hallway was clear and Clint eased down it, checking every room he passed. They were all empty. "Find anything yet?" He asked Tasha. He was starting to get an irritating tingle at the back of his neck. Something wasn't right here. The feeling of unease only increased when Natasha didn't answer him. "Romanov?" Clint raised his voice as loud as he dared. No response. Fuck. "Natasha?" One last shot._

_"Sorry, bit busy." Clint sighed with relief at hearing her voice. "And last names only, Barton. Never know who could be listening. Oh, and no. Nothing yet."_

_Clint would have loved to say something back, some quip about her neglecting him, or that that wasn't what she had said last night. Just something, anything, to drive away that feeling of dread that was threatening to overwhelm him. But he didn't get the chance. Because right then all Hell broke loose. Six men emerged at the end of the hall, guns drawn. Clint fired a shot, hitting one directly between the eyes, before ducking into the nearest room._

_He crouched in the open doorway as shots whizzed past him. He took one steadying breath, counting the number of bullets flying past him, the seconds in between them, zeroing in on where the men were standing. Clint didn't even need to look, he just put the gun around the corner and pulled the trigger. A satisfying thud told him he'd hit the mark. "And another one bites the dust." He smirked. But now there were running footsteps. The ass-hats were done playing around. They were going to chase him down._

_Clint did the only thing he could think of. The room behind him was empty without even a ceiling vent to climb into. (Seriously, who the fuck designed this place?) There was no window to escape through. There was no where to run. Time to make a stand. Clint gritted his teeth. This was a stupid idea, even by his standards. And it was going to hurt. But he had no choice. He stepped out into the hallway, dropping down to avoid the still-flying bullets, and raised his gun._

_He managed to get two shots off, each hitting a seperate ass-hat, and dropping them to the floor. (and another one gone and another one gone... he couldn't help thinking) Then the two remaining ass-hats were on top of him. One kicked the gun from his hand as the other brought down the base of his gun onto Clint's head and the world went black._

_When Clint woke up he knew instantly that he was in deep shit. He was bound by metal cuffs at his wrists and ankles to a metal chair which was in turn bolted to the floor. He strained his wrists, testing the strength of the metal (because so far everything he'd encountered had been rusted to shit) but they held. He lifted his head to look around and grunted at the painful throb that accompanied the movement. He'd be lucky not to have a concussion. Again. At some point medical was going to try and install a metal helmet around Clint's head permanently, and with how badly his head hurt right now, he might let them._

_"Did they hurt you?" Clint's head snapped around at the unfamiliar voice. There was an old man watching him from behind a glass door in the corner. The room the man was standing in looked to be some sort of cell and now that Clint looked he could see similar rooms lining two of the walls. He strained to see if Coulson was in any of them but they were empty as far as he could tell. Well, at least now he knew where the civilan was. That was something._

_"It's nothing." Clint grumbled, biting back a gasp at a particularly unpleasant throb through his head. His eyes faded black for a brief second. Yep. Definitely a concussion. "You George?" The man stared at Clint warily. "Don't worry. Your wife sent me. Well, sort of. I was coming here anyway. Looking for a friend of mine."_

_"You mean the other Agent?" Clint ignored the pain and turned to stare at George. "They usually keep him in here. In that cell over there." George gestured to the cell across the room from him. Clint winced as he made out a small dark spot of blood on the indicated glass door. "They took him out as they brought you in. I figured you two knew each other from the look on his face. I was a shrink back in England, you get pretty good at reading people's faces."_

_"So he's still alive." It wasn't a question but George answered affirmative anyway. Coulson was alive. And Coulson knew Clint was here. Coulson being Coulson, that meant he knew that Natasha was here as well. Natasha! Clint pressed his ear against his shoulder, hoping that the ass-hats hadn't thought to remove his earpiece. They had. Damn it!_

_The door creaked open and Clint looked up to see one of the ass-hats from the hallway enter followed by an ass-hat he hadn't seen yet. As they moved he noted that the door was made of solid steel and the the hallway beyond it was clean and polished. Not at all like the hallway Clint had been walking down. Either they were in another building (extremely unlikely) or they were in a lower level that SHIELD had been unaware of (extremely likely). Which meant that these ass-hats were a lot smarter and more well-funded than they let on._

_"Ah, good afternoon Agent Barton." The new ass-hat said. His voice was smooth and deep, just what Clint expected from a criminal mastermind. "How is your head feeling? Would you like any asprin?"_

_Clint smirked. "I'm peachy, thanks."_

_"Glad to hear it. Wouldn't want you to be too distracted when the show begins." The ice in the ass-hat's voice sent shivers down Clint's spine. The man nodded to the other ass-hat who flipped a switch on the wall and suddenly the wall in front of Clint transformed into a wall of glass. On the other side was Phil Coulson, handcuffed to a chair like Clint's. The ass-hats must have cleaned Coulson up a little, because there was no more dried blood, which somehow made everything worse. Now each and every bruise and cut stood out markedly against Coulson's pale skin. Every drop of blood in Clint's body seemed to drain out of him. He knew how this game was played._

_"What do you want?" Clint hissed._

_The head ass-hat chuckled. "Oh, it's no where near that simple Agent Barton. See, I made an offer that requires me to keep Agent Coulson alive for at least another 48 hours-"_

_"SHIELD doesn't negotiate- "_

_"Oh I'm fully aware of that fact." The man cut Clint off. "And to be honest, I would have been disappointed if they had agreed. No man is worth 50 million dollars. But, as I was saying before you interuppted. While I know that SHIELD will not accept my offer, I am still an honest man and so Agent Coulson will live for at least another 48 hours. Though probably not much longer." The man chuckled again. A cold, merciless laugh. "You, on the other hand. I've made no such deal involving you. You are fair game."_

_The man leaned down so that his face was in front of Clint's. Clint stared back at him, determined not to show even an ounce of fear, despite the fact that every fiber of his being was flooded with it. "You are strong, Agent Barton. I like that. I shall like breaking you even more." The man stood up as a third ass-hat wheeled in a metal tray of devices Clint didn't want to think about. "It's always more fun with an audience."_

_Clint spared a quick glance at Coulson through the glass. He could see the man's mouth moving but couldn't hear what he was saying._

_"It's soundproof." Head ass-hat said, grabbing a long, thin blade from the table. "But don't worry. We put in a speaker system so that he will be able to hear everything."_

_"SHIELD agents are trained to withstand torture. So go ahead, but whatever it is you want, you'll never get it." Clint snapped, more forceful than he felt._

_"That is where you are wrong, Agent Barton. Because I have you. And I have Agent Coulson. Two new toys to play with. There is nothing I want more than that." The man ran his fingers along the edge of the blade. "See, what you don't understand, Agent Barton, is that I am not your typical bad guy. I already have enough money to buy SHIELD three times over. But I get bored. I've tried the usual things. Hookers and hobos. But they always died so quickly. They never withstood the torture for long._

_So I started moving up. Business men. Housewives. They were harldy any better. Then I started doing families. It was so much better; when they have something to fight for. So how could I resist when a lovely little secret agent came stubbling across my path. Finally, someone who was trained to withstand anything I could put him through. But then I had a better idea. Why stop at just one?_

_I sent SHIELD the picture and the ransom. I figured they'd send their best, and here you are. The fact that you two are obviously acquainted was a bonus I wasn't expecting, though. Not that I should be surprised. No SHIELD agent works alone. There's always a team. So why not send Agent Coulson's team to come and get him?"_

_The man was grinning from ear to ear as he knelt down in front of Clint. The blade in his fingers glinting menacingly in the harsh flourescent light. Clint could see Coulson over the man's head. Clint met his eyes and tried to silently reassure him. They'd both been tortured before. Both seen the other be tortured before. They could handle this. They just had to hold out until Natasha arrived with reinforcements._

_"I am so very glad that you walked so willingly into my hands, Agent Barton." The man spun the knife and pressed the blade against the side of Clint's knee. He pressed down. Slowly and steadily. The blade slid into Clint's skin. He bit down on the inside of his lip, drawing blood, as the blade landed againt bone. The blade shifted around until it was resting against the taught tendons along the back of Clint's knee. The second the blade touched them Clint's body gave an involuntary twitch, trying to get away. Clint gritted his teeth but stayed silent as the ass-hat slowly withdrew the blade from his skin._

_"That the best you got?" Clint snorted. His head was still clouded and throbbing but he didn't care. This ass-hat was turning out to be an actual ass-hat and Clint wasn't going to give him any sort of satisfaction._

_"Oh no, Agent Barton. I've had years of practice in this. I know how to draw this out. That was just a little test to make sure you weren't some silly junior agent trying to act macho. Now that I know you're not, the real fun begins."_


	5. The Third Option

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets kinda graphic. If you can't handle torture scenes, skip the first 5 or so paragraphs.

_Clint ground his teeth, forcing back the scream that was building in his throat. Pain, white, hot and burning, was spreading from his shoulder, up through his neck and down his right arm. A long metal blade, super-heated by the now discarded blowtorch was being slowly pushed down into his chest. It entered just behind the ridge of his collarbone and slid down along the outside of his ribs, slicing muscles away from bones along the way._

_The pain was excrutiating but no where near the worst he'd felt in the last few hours. He had to hand it to Head Ass-hat, the man had a knack for torture. He knew exactly where each nerve was, how much pressure a tendon could withstand before snapping, and just how much pain a body could withstand before blacking out. And he danced around the edges of those limits with a practiced grace._

_He'd started off slow. Going over Clint's extremities with a series of knives. Carving a delicate pattern into Clint's skin. The cuts weren't deep, but extremely thin and smooth and Clint felt like he had a network of papercuts lining his arms and legs. And that had been the easy part. Next the man had gotten down-right cruel, bringing out a squirt bottle containing some sort of liquid that felt like acid on Clint's cuts. He'd doused Clint's wounds until Clint thought he would rather take a bullet to the knee. It was small torture, but effective._

_Next Head Ass-hat had started on a nerve point. He had very carefully cut into the back of Clint's knee, cutting through layers of muscle until his knife point had found the tibial nerve that was buried there. (Clint only knew that because of the time a bullet had grazed the back of his knee. Pain like that and you pay a lot more attention to what the doctor is saying and how the hell to prevent it happening again.) Clint had screamed at that one. His whole body contorting as the pain flashed through the nerve. He'd twisted and bucked helplessly against the restraints. (He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he shouldn't move, since the nerve was right next to an artery, but he wasn't exactly thinking all too clearly at that point.) But eventually the man had pulled the blade away, and no artery had been hit (which, as much as Clint hated to admit it, was damn impressive since the guy had been working blindly from his spot in front of Clint)._

_Then had come the blowtorch. Clint didn't want to think about that right now. Didn't want to think about the searing pain and the acrid smell of burning flesh as the skin of his legs blistered and boiled. (For some reason the Ass-hat was focusing more on Clint's lower extremities, which Clint secretly appreciated. If he somehow managed to survive this, he wanted to be able to use his bow still.) Clint had bitten through his cheek and blood had pooled in his mouth as he saw the white hot flames dissolve his skin. At least once he had finished, Head Ass-hat had left Clint's pant legs rolled up away from the burns. And now it was the knife, so big it was practically a sword, pushing into his chest._

_And through it all was Phil Coulson. Watching helplessly from the other room as Clint faced pain he didn't think the human body was capable of experiencing. He could see Coulson's lips moving though Clint wasn't sure what Coulson was saying. He wouldn't be begging or pleading. Coulson knew the rules; no negotiating, but he was definitely saying something. Clint had discovered rather quickly that Head Ass-hat had a comm in his ear so that he could hear everything Coulson was saying. The man had leaned down close to Clint's ear and he'd been able to make out the sound of Coulson's voice, faint and staticy, but his nonetheless._

_That was what kept Clint focused. That's what kept him gritting his teeth and biting his cheeks and lips and digging his fingernails into his palms. It was no longer just about making sure Head Ass-hat didn't enjoy himself. It was about making sure Phil Coulson didn't see just how much Clint was suffering. Because no matter how horrible these last few hours had been, somewhere Natasha was gathering a team to come and save them. Except if she took much longer, Clint didn't think he'd make it until she arrived. With how quickly the Ass-hat was escalating, he doubted he had more than six hours left until the man got bored and just put a bullet in Clint's brain._

_Damn that sounded appealing. Anything that would make the pain disappear. Anything to make the pain on his shins and behind his left knee and along the outside of his arms and legs, and now searing through his chest, disappear. But Head Ass-hat didn't seem the type for a quick and easy death. Not for Clint nor Coulson. Both men would be tortured until Head Ass-hat got bored with their screams. A wave of nausea rolled in Clint's stomach as the blade slowly withdrew from his skin. He didn't want the blade to leave his flesh. He wanted the torture to keep going. It was unimaginable pain and his whole body ached for it to end, but as long as Head Ass-hat was focusing on Clint, Coulson was safe._

_Head Ass-hat twisted the blade as he withdrew it, scraping it along the inside of Clint's collarbone. Clint gasped and the man chuckled. "You are being so quiet, Agent Barton. Are you so bored with my games?" The man circled Clint's chair, like a shark circling in the water, relishing the smell of fresh blood. "I could always give you a break and return to Agent Coulson." Clint barely managed to contain the look of fear and anger. The blood draining out of his face would have given him away if there had been any excess blood in his body to drain away. "But I don't think I shall. Not yet anyway. You still have so much more to give. But first, all this fun is making me hungry."_

_Head Ass-hat threw the sword down on the metal tray that was covered in bloody knives. He stalked towards the door and the other two ass-hats followed, one wheeling out the tray. The goons had been in the room the whole time, working as assistants, handing Head Ass-hat whatever tools he'd asked for. He'd seen them avert their eyes during the worst of the torture. Clint had made a mental note that these were men for hire, not sick fuckers like their boss. Head Ass-hat had stopped at the door, turning back to Clint. "I will return, then we'll pick this up where we left off." A quick smirk that reached the cold eyes and then the man was gone._

_The door swung shut and there was the click of a lock. Clint waited ten seconds, counting them out, before assuring himself that the men really had left. He breathed a sigh of relief, gasping at the pain in his chest. "Fuck" Clint ground out the word through gritted teeth. He could feel blackness creeping into the edges of his pounding head. This torture wasn't doing anything to help his concussion._

_"I'm sorry." Clint jumped and screamed in pain as the burns on his legs moved. He spun his head around, ignoring how it made is vision swim. He saw a man standing behind a glass door. George! He'd forgotten the man was there._

_"Don't be. There's nothing you could do. I'm sorry you had to see it." Clint was shocked he could still form full sentences. It felt like he had to search for each word through a thick fog._

_"I didn't watch. Or listen. Whenever they come I close my eyes and cover my ears. Coulson said it would help him focus on not giving in if he didn't have to worry about a civilain being traumatized." Clint laughed, then groaned in pain. That sounded like Coulson. Worrying about himself last. Clint turned back around to stare at Coulson through the glass wall only to find Coulson staring intently back at him. Coulson's lips were moving soundlessly._

_"I can't hear you." Clint said in a sing-song voice. Coulson glared at him but there was a twitch at his lips that hinted at a smile. "But you can still hear me..." Coulson nodded. "Are you okay?" Coulson rolled his eyes and nodded again before nodding his head at Clint._ 'Are you?'  _"You know me. I can handle anything." Clint tried to smile but it came out more as a grimace and Coulson's frown deepened._

_"Oh come on, this isn't even as bad as when I got caught cheating in Vegas." Coulson raised one eyebrow, trying to tell Clint that that didn't make this time any better. "Yeah, yeah..." Clint's head sunk down on his chest and his eyes slipped closed without him realizing what was happening._

_"Barton!" George's voice snapped Clint back to consciousness._

_"Just resting my eyes." Clint lied. He'd had enough concussions in his life to know he needed to stay awake. But his eyelids were just so heavy. And the fog in his mind was so thick. And as his mind floated away the pain lessed just a bit. It felt wonderful after the hours of torture. He just wanted to curl up into a ball, someplace small and tight, like the ceiling above Coulson's office. He just wanted to -_

_"Barton, stay awake!" Clint snapped open eyes he didn't remember closing. Shit. This was going to harder than he thought. "You need to stay awake, Agent Barton."_

_"I know." Clint's voice was thick._

_"Talk to me. Tell me something." It was like a door unlocking in Clint's head. Words started pouring out._

_"The first time we ever met, Coulson shot me. Can you believe that? He shot me, right in the leg." Clint was talking to George but his eyes never left Phil Coulson's face. He'd never talked about that day with anyone. Not even hashing back over the details with Coulson. To this day the only three people who knew the story were him, Coulson, and Fury. And now George would know it too._

_"I was working free-lance. Well, I was working for myself really, but I'd take a paying gig if I could find one. I'd been hired to take out a visiting foreign dignitary. Normally, I would have said no. I may be an assassin, but I'm not a monster and I don't deal with politics. But this guy was horrible. He was... well... not a nice guy. Caused lots of suffering and blood-shed in his country. So I agreed._

_It was an easy job. The guy was a man of routine and went running in the same park every morning. The place was in the middle of the city, surrounded by buildings. There was only a few trees, so nothing to block sight-lines. Honestly, the hardest part was picking a perch._ _Everything went according to plan..."_

_"So how did you end up getting shot?" George interrupted. Drawing Clint out of the fog again._

_"I'm getting there."_ _Clint sighed, trying to get back his focus. It hurt to try and think, but the story seemed to slip easily through the fog like a lighthouse in a storm. "Well, as I said, everything went fine. Got a shot off. Clean. Right between the eyes. I had my gear packed up before he'd hit the ground and was off the roof before his body guards realized what had happened. I dropped down the fire escape to find myself face-to-face with some banker looking guy in a suit._

_I tried to push past him, you know, ignore him. He's a banker, I'm a hitman, he didn't deserve my notice." Clint smirked at Coulson through the glass. Coulson moved one hand in a circular motion, 'And then'. "And the next thing I knew I was in face-down on the pavement. I managed to get back to my feet and fight him off. Turns out the suit was less banker and more ninja. I wasn't the best at hand-to-hand back then, so I ran. And that ass" Clint nodded his head towards Coulson, "shot me in the leg._

_"Not that I let it show. Kept running as fast as I could. The suit-ninja chased after me and suddenly I found myself in an alleyway chase scene straight out of an action movie. It would have been awesome if it wasn't for the blood loss. I had been lazy in my scouting of the location and ended up taking a wrong turn. Straight into a dead end. I managed to scramble up a fire escape but was only on the first landing when the other guy caught up._ _He pointed his gun at me, and... and I laughed at him. My wounded leg was hidden from his sight so I decided to fuck with him. Just cause, if I was gonna die, I was gonna go out on my own terms_ _. So I laughed. Told the man that I wasn't scared of a gun when it was in the hands of someone who couldn't even hit a retreating target." Clint chuckled at the annoyance in Coulson's face._

_"You told him he'd missed?" George asked._

_"Yep."_

_"Did he buy it?"_

_"Not really. But it threw him off enough to buy me a second to scramble up to the next level of the fire escape. He chased me up it. Stupid building was too far from any others for me to try and make a jump. So I did the only thing I could. I pulled my own gun on him. We had a stand-off. I wasn't ever going to shoot him. At least, not to kill. The man had mad ninja skills, even in a suit and tie. I respected that. But I couldn't let him shoot me either. So we stood there. Staring at each other. And then his eyes darted down and he saw the blood on my leg._

_'You lied.' He said. And I just smiled at him, told him that I did what it took to stay alive. Plus, it had barely grazed me. He didn't buy it. I could see that. Not with the amount of blood there was..." Clint's mind drifted from the story to the blood on his skin. The pools of liquid in the crevice of his elbows and coating his arms and legs. He'd lost so much. And he was losing more each second. The wound in his shoulder still hadn't clotted over and was oozing down the front of his shirt..._

_"Then what happened?"_

_"Then he asked me who I worked for. I didn't tell him. Well, I said no one. Which was kind of true. But he pressed. Asking if it was another country, or the CIA. Because apparently the CIA had been trying to get to the target ahead of the suit-ninja. That's when I finally figured out the guy wasn't with the dignitary. Wasn't some bodyguard trying to get justice. So, I asked who he was. 'Agent Coulson, Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division'." Clint impersonated Coulson's flat tone, which earned him an annoyed glare for the man through the glass._

_"He must have figure out that I really was just a gun for hire, cause he started giving me a pitch. Told me how they'd been fighting the CIA to get to the dignitary first and were just about to take the shot when I'd dropped him. He told me that, as he was technically a government official, and I had just killed a foreign official, I had two choices. Let him arrest me and spend my life in Guantanamo, or come to work for SHIELD."_

_George scoffed. "Bet that was an easy decision."_

_"Not really." Clint saw Coulson's head twitch. Just the slightest movement that gave away his confusion and curiosity. "There was a third option. A really easy one. I could have run. There was a ledge, off the one side of the roof. I could have used it to drop to the ground any time I wanted. It was a tiny ledge, and I was certain the man, despite his ninja-ness, wouldn't have been able to follow me. The only reason I didn't was because the man interested me. I wanted to know what the man had to say._

_So I let him think that he had me cornered, and that I only had two options. I listened to the spiel, and you know what? It didn't sound half bad. I wasn't too thrilled with the whole, being a government lacky thing, but hey, I'd get to shoot at people, and get paid for it, and have at least some measure of government protection. Which sounded kind of nice after so many years of being on my own... of fighting for everything... So I lowered my gun and told asked him 'When do I start?' and... and then I passed out from blood loss."_

_George snorted again and Clint turned to glare at him. "Sorry, but, yeah..." George's hand was covering his mouth, trying to hold back his laughter._

_Clint turned away from him, dropping his eyes to the ground. He didn't want to look at Coulson. Not right this second. He'd never told Coulson that he'd had a way out. Clint had teased Coulson over the years. Whenever Coulson had tried to say that Clint liked him (just liked him, not... well.. Clint was quite good at burying and hiding whatever else he may feel towards his handler) but Clint had always responded by saying that it was either Coulson or Guantanamo Bay, and Clint looked horrible in prison orange._

_But now Coulson knew the truth. That Clint could have run, could have disappeared off the face of the earth. But he had chosen to stay with Coulson. Because even in those first few minutes there had been something about the man that intrigued Clint. Something that had made him want to see past the expresionless mask and see what secrets the man was hiding. And Coulson was definitely hiding secrets. Any man who could keep up with Clint was more than just a typical government agent._

_"Barton... He's back." George's voice had dropped all of it's humor. It was soft and strained. Clint's head snapped up. His eyes went to the door, expecting to see Head Ass-hat stolling through it, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Clint was right about the grin, but wrong about the door. His heart dropped out of his chest as the two flunkies followed Head Ass-hat, pushing the tray of now-clean blades into the room on the other side of the glass. Into the room with Coulson._


	6. For Coulson

_Clint would have willingly suffered the earlier torture twenty times over if it would stop them torturing Coulson. Clint's stomach wrenched each time the smooth blades cut into flesh, drawing blood. His heart seemed to have dropped so far that it had completely vanished. He wanted to fight and scream and, most of all, kill Head Ass-hat in a very slow and painful way._

_He focused on that. On all of the ways he could, and would, kill that man. He didn't focus on the way Coulson's jaw was clenched against the pain. Or how he twisted to try and get away from the knives. Because if he focused on those, even for a second, he would lose it. And he couldn't lose it. There was nothing he could do for Couslon beyond making sure that Head Ass-hat didn't think it bothered him. If Head Ass-hat thought Clint didn't care about Coulson, then maybe he'd stop sooner. Maybe he'd get bored and come back to Clint. Because at least then he'd been getting some sort of reaction out of both of them._

_So Clint kept his mouth shut, clenching his jaw to keep himself from shouting out each time Coulson flinched. He kept his eyes forward and his face calm. All the while his insides were going crazy. He was overcome by so many emotions that he could no longer distinguish them. The only thing that stuck out was a single thought that kept repeating in his head. For Coulson. Do whatever it takes. For Coulson. Keep quiet and strong. For Coulson. Don't give Head Ass-hat any pleasure from this. For Coulson. I can't let him die. Not here, not like this. Not my Coulson._

_Less than an hour later Head Ass-hat dropped his knives and left Coulson's room. Clint could see him saying something that made Coulson pale. Which Clint was surprised was even possible given how much blood the man had lost. Clint had to force back a smile. He'd been right. Head Ass-hat had gotten bored with Coulson. That was good. The fact that Head Ass-hat was coming into the room with Clint, was not._

_"You are a man of few words, are you not, Agent Barton?" There was something in his tone that made Clint shiver. It was almost like an eagerness lined with malice. He knealt down so that he was eye-to-eye with Clint. Clint could feel his breath on his skin and see the sweat beading along his brow. "I have a question for you, Agent Barton. You see. While I was in here, having fun with you, Agent Coulson," he gestured absentmindedly over his shoulder, "I couldn't get him to shut up. Every second, he was spouting forth a constant babble. And do you want to know what he was saying?"_

_Clint just glared at the man. He was tempted to spit at him, but his mouth was dry. Plus, Head Ass-hat was the type of sicko who'd probably enjoy it._

_"Torture me instead." What little was left of Clint's control broke. He could feel himself hyperventalating but couldn't stop it. He dug his fingernails into his palms to keep tears from forming in his eyes. "You only have me for a few more hours. You have him for as long as you want. So use me while you can. Torture me. Please." Clint's hands started shaking, but the man wasn't done yet. "It was a logical argument. So I complied. But something happened that I wasn't expecting. Do you know what that was?"_

_Clint shook his head before he realized that that was what Head Ass-hat wanted. A huge grin covered the man's face as he leaned in closer. "You said nothing. Agent Coulson begged for you. Was willing to give anything and everything." he drew out the words, emphasizing them with a raise of his eyebrows. "All to spare you. To give you just a few more hours without pain. But when I was with him... you said nothing._

_So I have a little theory, and I'm sure Agent Coulson is just as curious about it as I am. See. He cares about you. That much is obvious." Clint tried in vain to keep his mind from spinning. It was hard to think, but he was pretty sure Head Ass-hat had just said Coulson cared for Clint. But not like that. Clint repeated the mantra in his head. He's my handler. Nothing more. He may care about me. But not like that. Not like that._

_"The question remains, Agent Barton. How could he care so greatly for you, and you care so little for him. So, here's my theory. I think that you don't have a heart... and I bet Agent Coulson has wondered the same thing. Let's get the answer, shall we." The man smirked an evil grin. "Scalpel." He held up one hand and one of the other ass-hats passed one over. His long thin fingers closed over the shiny metal. Clint's heart sped as the scalpel moved closer to his chest. "Don't worry. It won't take much. I just need to see it for myself." The man's voice was a low hiss._

_Clint watched as the knife moved closer. The skin on his chest started to itch and crawl with the anticipation. His whole body felt restless as adrenaline poured into his system. The fight or flight response. But he couldn't do either. He was trapped; chained down. There was nowhere to run and nothing he could do to fight. There was nothing to stop the scalpel from piercing his skin. Clint closed his eyes, not wanting to see his skin being split apart. He took a deep breath. Then another... then another... nothing happened._

_He risked peeking with one eye. Head Ass-hat was gone. Clint's other eye snapped open and he looked around. The other two ass-hats were gone as well. He turned to the glass wall, to find Coulson. But he was gone too. The chair he had been bound to was blood-spattered, but empty. Confusion and desperation were mixing in Clint's brain. He turned to look for George but couldn't see anything._

_Maybe it was his concussion. Maybe he was actually unconscious right now. Or maybe he was hallucinating. Clint scrambled for something to explain how he was so suddenly alone. He hoped that this was Natasha's doing. That she'd finally come back for them. Yes. That had to be it. Natasha had come back and done exactly what Clint had asked her to. She'd gotten Coulson and George out. He heaved a sigh of relief. The pain seemed to ebb from his body and the fog swirled more thickly through his mind. He didn't need to fight anymore. It was all okay. Phil was safe..._

_Clint's eyes grew heavy and his body felt weak and distant. He knew the feeling. He'd faced it too many times before. It was death. He was dying. And that was all right. His lips curled into a weak smile as his eyelids drifted shut. The last thing he remembered was the sound of the door opening and someone shouting his name._

;;;

"Clint!" Clint groggigly opened his eyes. Blinking a few times to clear his mind. He was lying curled up into a ball on the ground. Natasha was leaning over him looking terrified. "Clint, are you all right?" He nodded and pushed himself up. He leaned back against the wall and looked around. He was in the hallway right outside Phil's office. He didn't remember laying down or falling asleep. "Clint..." Natasha sat down next to him, mirroring his position, with his legs curled up into his chest. "Don't lie to me. This is the second time today I've found you asleep in a random place... What was the nightmare?"

"It wasn't."

"Clint, you were screaming in your sleep. Half of this floor was making calls to Fury. So what was it? Beijing again? Vegas?"

"Budapest..."

Natasha nodded knowingly. "I'm not surprised." She hesitated, like she was unsure if she should say what was on her mind. It bothered Clint. Natasha was always honest and straight-forward. She said what she thought. It was what made her her. "Out in the field... when we were fighting Loki," Clint flinched at the name, "you said it reminded you of Budapest... how?"

Clint just gaped at her. He could see the truth in her eyes. She was honestly curious as to how he had made the connection. He sighed. He didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to think about that day... God, it was only two days ago... It felt like years and seconds at the same time. But this was Tasha. If anyone would understand, she would.

"Because - " Clint couldn't say the name. "Wasn't there. It was Cap in my ear. Making the calls. The only other time it wasn't -" he swallowed back the tears welling in his eyes. "the last time we were alone... I was alone... was in Budapest."

Natasha wrapped an arm around Clint's shoulders and he collapsed into her. He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, her comforting him and him sobbing uncontrollably into her shoulder. She never moved, just rubbed a hand along his back. The movement was soothing and eventually Clint's tears ran out. He shifted to move away but she held him tight. Slowly she pushed him back, her grip never loosening, until they were face-to-face.

"How is a dream about Budapest not a nightmare?" She spoke soft and slow. Careful to not do or say anything to spook him.

"Because it was a memory..." Tasha raised and eyebrow and he rushed to explain. "Ever since - you know - I don't dream. Not really. It's like I'm just going back through memories of me and - " Clint's voice faltered.

"You're remembering everything you two did?" Tasha's voice was calm but he heard the bit of skepticism.

"Not everything. Just random things. Usually it's big stuff. Like Budapest. But not always. And they're always in chronological order."

"So last night, when you woke up in a panic?"

"The day I almost left SHIELD. The day I thought Phil had rejected me." Clint choked on the name but managed to get it out. Natasha sat there, processing his words. He could see gears working in her mind. She would think of what to do. She was always the planner when Phil was gone.

"I don't know why or how your dreams are suddenly memories. Beyond the obvious." She gave a weak smile that did nothing to lessen the feeling of Clint's heart being shredded. "But, Clint, you can't keep falling asleep everywhere. It's freaking people out."

"I don't care."

"Either do I. But it's worrying me. I don't like having to worry about you Clint. So here's what's going to happen. You are going to move into Stark Tower with me and the rest of the Avengers." Clint started to protest but she cut him off with a stern glare. "No one will bother you. You can wander around and fall asleep wherever you want. I won't have to worry about you. Plus, if you stay here much longer Fury is going to give in and send you down to psych."

"He promised..." Fury had promised the psych people that he would never send Clint to them again after Clint had shot one too many arrows at their heads. He'd never hit anyone, as much as he had been tempted to, but he'd gotten close enough to ruffle some hair a few times.

"I know, but this is big. So, don't give him the chance to. Come to Stark Tower with me." She stood up and held out a hand to him. Clint debated it. He hated being here at HQ. Hated being surrounded by memories of Phil. But he didn't want to leave either. Didn't want to go where there would be nothing of Phil. Somewhere where everyone would tiptoe around him.

"Did I mention that Fury has everyone working double-duty on clean-up so we won't be around very often." That sealed it. Clint grabbed Natasha's hand and she pulled him to his feet. "But, Clint." She was suddenly serious again. "These dreams, or memories, or whatever. They're moving in order. Meaning they'll end eventually." She voiced the fear that Clint had been so stubbornly refusing to acknowledge. She was right. She was always right. He craved sleep; any chance to see Phil again. But each time he did he was one time closer to the end. "If you wanted, R&D has those pills. Dreamless sleep, or in your case, memory-less sleep." Clint's stomach clenched. "I guess, my question is, do you still want to dream?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know I got the line about "You and I remember Budapest very differently" backwards. In the movie the dialogue is switched. But I'd only seen it once when I initially wrote this chapter, and the line works better this way.


	7. Alone in the Aftermath

Do I still want to dream?... Do I still want to remember?... Do I want this to continue?... The words chased each other endlessly through Clint's brain. The simple answer was no. No, he didn't want to see Phil's face haunting his dreams. He didn't want to remember everything in their past that had brought them together. Clint didn't want to know that every time he closed his eyes he was one time closer to never seeing Phil again. To never hearing his voice in his ear issuing orders. Or hearing the small little hum he'd do when he knew Clint was lying or about to do something stupid. He wanted to see Phil again. To hold him in his arms. To just have one more chance to see the smile he'd get whenever he woke up and caught Clint watching him sleep.

But that wasn't going to happen. Phil was gone. His heart had stopped. He was on a metal table in the morgue back at HQ. Clint had refused to go see the body. It didn't matter. That body wasn't Phil. It was just a shell that had somehow contained all the amazingness that was Phil… and now it was empty. Because Phil was dead. And he was never coming back.

So no, Clint didn't want to keep dreaming. He wanted Phil alive next to him. Would willingly trade anything to get Phil back. But that wasn't going to happen. So Clint would keep dreaming, because it was the closest thing he'd get.

;;;

_"Clint" the voice was soft and familiar. It made Clint's heart leap. The sound of beeping, loud and quick, suddenly broke through the fog in Clint's mind. He knew that sound. It was just as familiar as the voice. Hell, the only time that voice was that soft was when it accompanied the beeping of heart monitors. There was a soft chuckle and Clint struggled against whatever drugs were in his system. He wanted to open his eyes, needed to open them. He had to make sure this wasn't a dream._

_His eyes slid open and he had to blink a few times to clear them. The light in the room was dim and the figure leaning over him was hidden half in shadow. But Clint would know that shape even on the darkest of nights through the sight of his scope. Phil. "Hey." Clint croaked. His throat felt like it'd been rubbed raw with sandpaper while he'd been out._

_"What the hell were you thinking?" Coulson switched back to handler mode. His voice sharp and it cut through Clint's pain medication and made him wince._

_"You're welcome." Clint managed. He was fighting the urge to roll away from Phil and curl up into a ball. He had enough trouble keeping his emotions towards Phil under control at the best of times. Hearing Coulson's anger when Clint felt so raw and exposed was worse than the torture._

_"I am not saying thank you." Phil said. His voice was flat but Clint could hear the rage behind it. "You and Romanov are extremely high-value assets. It was foolish and irresponsible for you to risk yourselves for me." Clint wanted to interrupt but fell silent with a glare from Coulson. "You had minimal intel, limited resources, and virtually no back-up. If either of you ever attempt anything even half as stupid as that ever again I will shoot you in the knees and force you to do paperwork non-stop until you heal. Then I might shoot you again, just to make sure I get my point across."_

_"We had to come for you." Clint was ashamed of how weak his voice sounded._

_"No, you didn't." Phil sighed and his shoulders slumped. Clint noticed that his left arm was in a sling and there were bandages visible under the collar of Coulson's suit. He looked as tired as Clint felt. Phil's right had was resting on Clint's bed, just inches away from Clint's own hand. He wanted to reach out, to hold it, to tell Phil that of course they had to come for him. He was Phil. He wasn't just their handler, he was family. He was the only one who put up with Clint and Tasha's antics. That they both needed him more than they could or would ever say. Though, Clint was pretty sure his own need was different than Tasha's._

_But he kept his hand still. Instead, asking "What happened? One second Head Ass-hat was there-" Phil raised an eyebrow. "It's the name I gave him. I thought it fit him pretty well." Coulson gave a half-hearted smile and nod. "Well, one second he was there… about to…" Clint raised his hand to his chest, closing his eyes against the memory. The image of the thin blade slowly coming closer and closer._

" _Barton" Coulson's voice snapped him out his memories. Clint kept his eyes down, choosing to stare at his hands in his lap rather than look up at Coulson. Clint's hand was shaking and he clenched it into a fist to try and keep it still. He'd been through worse. The idea of a scalpel coming towards his chest shouldn't scare him so badly._

" _What happened?" Clint asked again, keeping his voice steady._

" _I saved your ass." Natasha burst through the door. The light from the hall streamed into the room and Clint squinted. She sighed and rolled her eyes but slammed the door shut. "You are so lucky that some of us know a trap before it closes around us." She curled up on the end of Clint's bed. "I heard the shots through the comm and when you fell silent, I assumed the worst. So I fell back and re-grouped._

" _It took longer than it should have to get a new plan of attack. By that point we'd discovered that there was a secret basement to the warehouse and knew that we had underestimated our opponent." Clint scoffed and she raised an eyebrow at him. He fell silent instantly. "We finally managed to hack into their security system and loop the feeds. Then it was just a matter of slipping in and getting Coulson and George out. It was easier than I expected." She sounded disappointed. "There were only three guards besides the four Clint took out. Two of them were with the head guy –"_

" _Head Ass-hat" Coulson offered causing Clint to stare at him. Natasha just shrugged and kept going._

" _Well, the two were in with Head Ass-hat watching him torture you two, the other was watching the camera feeds. He was dead before he even knew I was there. I lured the other two into the hall and got them one at a time. Head Ass-hat surrendered when he saw that his men were dead." Her voice was even, like the story bored her. "When I saw what he'd done to you and Coulson, he's lucky Coulson was in need of immediate medical attention or he would have had a very unfortunate accident. But I followed my orders and got Coulson and the civilian out."_

_She nodded like that explained everything. For Clint, it did. Natasha had been her normal amazing self and had saved the day. She had rescued both their sorry asses. But apparently it wasn't as clear to Coulson. "What orders?" He asked, suspicious._

" _Before the mission, I was ordered to do whatever it took to rescue you and the civilian, whatever the cost. I was told that anyone who fell behind was to stay behind."_

" _I see. And who gave you this order?" Coulson was staring at Clint like he already knew the answer._

" _Agent Barton." Natasha smirked at Clint and stood up. He stuck out his tongue at her. She could be such a pain in the ass sometimes._

" _You are dismissed Agent Romanov." Coulson's eyes never left Clint as Tasha slipped from the room. "Is that true?" He asked as soon as the door was shut._

" _Yes, sir." There was no way Clint could explain this without making a fool of himself so he wasn't going to bother trying._

" _Do you wish to tell me why you gave Agent Romanov this order?"_

" _No, sir."_

" _It was a rhetorical question, Barton." Coulson leaned forward. Clint could make out his face, etched into a calm mask, but drawn too tight to be anything less than fury. "I would like to know, right this instant, why you would order Natasha to leave her partner behind."_

_Clint swallowed back the knot in his throat. "Because my safety was not the objective, sir. The objective of the mission was to secure the safety of Agent Coulson and the civilian, George Weston."_

" _There is never, I repeat, never an objective so important that it warrants self-sacrifice. Do you understand that, Barton?" Clint nodded and dropped his head. "Even if this had been an official mission, which I know for a fact it was not, you, Natasha, and I are a team, and we will never leave one another behind."_

" _That's why Tasha came back for me." Clint whispered. His meds were starting to wear off and his body was aching. All he wanted was to close his eyes and fall back to sleep._

" _Natasha is nothing if not a perfect soldier. She follows orders from her team, even if they are stupid." Clint didn't understand. "Natasha did exactly what you told her to. She got us out and left you behind."_

" _Then how?..." Clint tried to think back, to being bound to the chair. He remembered seeing Phil's chair empty, George being gone. He remembered the silence and emptiness. That was when Natasha had taken them away. He remembered the darkness closing in on his vision. Then he remembered the door swinging open and hearing a voice calling out for him. Phil's voice. "You came back for me?" Clint's chest tightened and he could hear the monitors start beeping quicker._

" _Barton." Coulson's voice was soft again, softer than Clint had ever heard. Clint tried to keep himself calm but the machines betrayed his feelings. He chided himself. Coulson was his handler. He would have done exactly the same thing for Natasha. It was nothing special. He was nothing special. Just another asset. "Agent Barton, look at me." Clint slowly raised his eyes until they met Coulson's._

" _Yes, sir?"_

" _When those men dragged me from my cell and I saw them binding you to that chair." Coulson's voice was tight and Clint could see his hands balled into fists. "Then watching, all those hours, and being unable to do anything. When Natasha came, I doubt I will ever be as happy to see her as I was then. First time that I actually was thankful that you refused to kill her. Then she stabbed a needle in my neck and reminded me of why I dislike her._

" _When I woke up I was in the back of a SHIELD van. Natasha was there, staring out the window. I've never seen her so sad. I thought that – " Coulson faltered. Clint's chest decided air was unnecessary. He'd never heard Coulson falter before. Had never seen a crack in his façade. "I thought medical had been too late to save you. When I found out that you were still back there." Coulson's lips twitched into a smile. "I still need to apologize to the medic who was fixing me up. I'm pretty sure I broke her nose."_

" _What? Why?" Coulson had a reputation for being a hard-ass, but he was never violent._

" _She tried to restrain me." Coulson said flatly. "And there was no way that I was going to let them take me away when you were still in that damn chair."_

" _Right, team, no man left behind." Clint mumbled. He was trying not to think about a bruised and bleeding Coulson running through the streets of Budapest. "What did Tasha do?"_

" _She was unconscious at the time. I may have returned the favor."_

 _Clint laughed._ " _I'm surprised she hasn't killed you."_

" _She's forgiven me. She was angrier about the fact that I didn't let her help me. Apparently she was only going to make sure I was fine before going back for your sorry ass."_

" _You two rebels. Always breaking orders. Surprised Fury puts up with it."_

" _Clint." Phil leaned in close to Clint, his hand grabbing Clint's. If Coulson heard the erratic beeping from the heart monitor he was kind enough to ignore it. "I wouldn't have cared if it had been Fury standing over me, ordering me to leave you behind. That is never going to happen. I will do anything in my power to protect you. At any cost. I will always, always come back to you."_

" _Don't you mean, for you?" Clint's voice was barely a whisper, the words spilling out before he could stop them._

" _That too." Coulson smirked. He leaned down and pressed his lips gently to Clint's. It was soft and sweet and absolutely perfect. Clint reached up his free hand and grabbed Coulson's neck, pulling him down lower, trying to get closer. His fingers brushed a bandage and Phil gasped. Clint hurriedly dropped his hand and pulled back from the kiss, regretting the movement with every part of his body._

" _Sorry." Clint mumbled, trying to shift away from Coulson. But Coulson was still there, his face just inches away from Clint's. His breath stirring Clint's hair and sending shivers down his spine. God, he wanted to kiss that man again. Clint risked looking up into Coulson's eyes and felt his heart skip a beat at the desire staring back at him._

" _If you ever tell Natasha or I to leave you behind again, I will hunt you down and kill you with your own bow." Coulson whispered the words and the threat just made Clint want him even more._

" _Why didn't you say anything?" Clint wanted to take the words back. He had been asking about the kiss; trying to see if it was real and not just an 'I'm glad you're still alive' thing. But the pain in Coulson's eyes made it clear he was thinking about the torture._

" _Why didn't you?"_

_Clint untangled his hand from Phil's and reached up, trying to push him away. Coulson was stronger though, especially with Clint still on meds and he didn't budge._

" _Get off." Clint growled. He was angry, furious. With Phil, with Natasha, with everyone, including himself. He'd been an idiot to get captured, but Phil had been an idiot to come back for him. He should have just left Clint to die in that room. Let Clint go to the grave with his unrequited love and twisted trust issues and left it at that. He needed to get fresh air. To pull at his bow and feel the sting of it against his fingers. He needed to drown out the last few days and everything that had come with them._

_Clint tried not to think about the fact that Phil had kissed him. The very thing he'd wanted for months now. The thing he'd been daydreaming about during every free second, every lag in a mission, every take-out dinner during a debrief. The kiss was just a fantasy, and it was supposed to stay a fantasy. Making it real would just make everything worse. Because Head Ass-hat had been right. Clint didn't have a heart. At least not one that functioned like it was supposed to. It'd been beaten and abused and trampled to a pulp so many times that only the pain and the beeping of heart monitors reminded him it was still there._

" _Clint-" Coulson was grabbing Clint's jaw, turning his head so he was forced to look at him. "I'm sorry. I know why –"_

" _No! You don't!" Clint snapped._

" _Then tell me." Clint kept his mouth shut. How could he make Coulson understand? How could he explain that he didn't want to risk rejection. That he'd already felt the pain of Phil rejecting him once and that had almost destroyed him. And that had been before things had gotten complicated. Before Clint's emotions had gotten the better of him. How could he tell Phil that if he let him in deeper, and was rejected again, and he would be rejected, everyone left him eventually, but if Coulson rejected him…_

" _Do you remember the day I almost left?" Clint felt Coulson sag as if Clint had just dropped a ten ton weight on him. He leaned back and looked down at his lap._

" _Of course I do."_

" _I stayed quiet because I didn't want him to hurt you. Because I knew he'd get bored and come back to me. I didn't say anything because you were the first person to ever come after me. To ever apologize and ask me to come back and actually mean it. You were the first person who didn't just see me as some idiot who just happens to be the best shot in recorded history."_

" _Though that does help." Coulson smiled and rubbed his thumb absent-mindedly along Clint's jaw. "There isn't a single day that I don't regret making you think you weren't wanted by SHIEILD. Or by me." His voice was so quiet and perfect. Clint couldn't help himself. He knew it was stupid and that he was exposing himself and that someday he'd regret allowing himself let this man in, but right now he didn't care. Clint lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Phil, pulling him into a kiss._

;;;

Clint jerked away as Natasha pulled the car to a stop. She looked at him, probably wondering what memory he had just dreamed of. From the pained look in her eyes he figured he may have been talking in his sleep at least enough for her to guess. He slid out of the car and followed her silently into the elevator. He watched the numbers flick upward, moving faster than a normal elevator would. Stark must have done some improvements to it.

When they stepped out Natasha pulled him down a long hallway. She led him into a huge bedroom. The walls were green and the floor was a thick grey carpet. It looked so soft that Clint immediately kicked off his boots which earned a small smile from Tasha. Then Clint spotted the box. A plain cardboard box emblazoned with the SHIELD insignia, sitting on the corner of the bed. He stepped towards it, not needing Tasha's whispered explanation to know exactly what it was.

He rested his hands on it, not moving until he heard the door click shut behind her. Then he slowly raised the lid. Inside were Phil's things. The few personal belongings that he kept with him or in his office. There was his badge, with Phil's face staring up at him. His keys and wallet and a few of Clint's old arrows that he had confiscated after Clint had shot them through a stack of paperwork. On top of the pile was a neat stack of Captain America trading cards, covered in Phil's blood.

Clint gingerly took out the cards and grabbed the arrows as an afterthought. He crossed to the wall of windows that looked out over the still-smoking ruins of the city. He spun an arrow in his fingers as he stared down at the cards. They perfect symbol for everything that Phil Coulson had ever been. Patriotic and heroic and willing to give anything to protect those he loved.

The arrow and cards fell from Clint's hands as he wrapped his arms around himself. Phil had said that no objective was ever worth self-sacrifice. He'd promised that he'd always come back. Clint hated that Phil's last act in life had been to go against everything he'd ever said. Clint blinked back tears and stared out over the city. Phil was gone, and now Clint was alone in the aftermath.


	8. Unexpected Comforts

Clint stared out the window, unable to move. The plumes of smoke rising up over the city were slowly fading into the red sky as the sun sank below the horizon. He could make out rescue crews still going through some of the buildings, their flashlights shining through the dusk. The rest of the team would be out there. They would be helping clean up Clint's mess.

He couldn't let himself think like that. If he started to, he would never be able to stop. He couldn't handle the guilt of all of those lives… Wouldn't be able to stand upright under the weight of it. So he wouldn't let his mind go there. Wouldn't let himself count the number of white sheets over bodies laid out in the streets below. Wouldn't let himself remember the screams of the agents he'd killed on the helicarrier. Wouldn't let himself think about what the Tesseract had shown him.

But nothing could stop him from thinking about Phil. About the last words they had said to each other. About the dreams of him whenever Clint closed his eyes. About the days together, the nights together. About how it had been his plan, his mission, his attack on the helicarrier. His placing Loki aboard, with Coulson… Clint could keep himself from laying the deaths of thousands of innocents on his hands, but he could never, not ever, not blame himself for what happened to Phil.

;;;

_Clint groaned as the weight at the foot of his bed shifted. The movement caused his legs to shift and the skin was still sore. The burns had been worse than the doctors had anticipated and it'd been over two weeks before they'd let him out of medical. He'd bitched about it constantly but he was secretly glad to be stuck there. And not just because of the heavy-duty pain killers._

_Coulson visited him every day. Multiple times. He always was carrying an armful of forms that Clint needed to fill out, which dampened the visits, but still. Coulson was there, at Clint's side, for hours on end and it felt perfect. They didn't talk about the kiss; didn't analyze or define it. Which suited Clint just fine. He'd take whatever Phil was willing to give. He never did things half-assed. If he was going to let Phil in, he was going to let him all the way in. Three plus years of trusting Phil with his life, Clint was still alive, so what was it to trust him with his heart as well._

_Clint was now lying on his bunk in HQ. He had tried to go back to his apartment but had been met with a resounding no from Fury, Sitwell, Coulson and Natasha, all at the same time. It'd been a bit intimidating. He'd folded rather than try and fight them off when he still could barely walk more than two feet without having to stop and rest. Coulson hadn't visited as much in the few days he'd been stuck in his bunk, though Natasha's increased visits had made up for it somewhat._

_Natasha knew how to have a good time, even when laid up in bed too tired and sore to move. Mostly she just told stories. Past missions that had gone wrong, the thousands of idiots who had actually deserved death at her hands. She never mentioned the ones that hadn't and Clint never asked. He knew that her water bottle usually contained something a lot more potent. She was sitting on his bed now, talking calmly about a Russian spy who had tried to outwit her._

_"He should have known better. I was young still, barely twelve, but I already had a reputation." She was leaning against the wall, a small smile on her lips. Clint wasn't listening to her story. He was just enjoying her being there. He loved Natasha, in a way that was beyond words and boundaries. They were two sides of the same coin. Two master assassins. One that liked to do her dirty work up-close and personal and one who saw better from a distance. But they were still the same. Just two pieces of meat kept around because of their skills at taking lives._

_They both knew it. And Coulson knew it. Hell, Fury had explicitly told them that dozens of times. They are hired guns. Two wild-card assets kept around simply because it was easier for Fury to keep an eye on them if they were on his payroll. They all accepted it and moved on. It had taken a little while for Clint to come to terms with the fact that people at SHIELD could see him as a person and an asset. That they wanted to form friendships and relationships beyond normal work partner ones. Natasha still struggled with that. That and the trust. She still didn't trust anyone but him and Coulson. And neither did Clint. Maybe that was the true reason he loved her so much. She was him, just… different._

_Natasha went into graphic detail of how she pulled the spy's eyes from his sockets. Most people assumed Tasha hated talking about her past; would rather it had never happened. They were right up to a point. She hated talking about the deaths that had been unearned. Her first week at SHIELD one of the junior agents had made the mistake of asking her about a certain orphanage. Said junior agent was beaten to within an inch of his life in the middle of the cafeteria before Clint had put a trank dart in her neck. Clint was pretty sure the agent had asked for a transfer to Antarctica. He was also pretty sure that Natasha had disappeared for a few days a week later and that the agent was most likely dead in a snow bank where he'd never be found._

_But Natasha loved to talk about her 'good kills.' The men she had killed to protect innocent people. To stop evil people from doing evil things. She was proud of those kills. Gloated about those kills. Would tell them to anyone who would listen in detail so perfect it'd make your stomach retch. Yet, since the Antarctica incident no one besides Clint or Coulson had ever dared to ask her about any of her kills. So now Clint was forced to sit here and pretend to listen as Tasha described how the man's blood had gushed over her hands as she had slid a knife into his throat. Because Tasha was Tasha and he would listen to anything if it meant getting to see that hint of a smile that she hardly ever used._

_"Nat?" Clint interrupted her recounting of the slide of her blade against cartilage. She looked affronted, glaring at him. "Sorry, lovely bedtime story, but I was just wondering…" He paused, taking a deep breath then instantly regretting it. The muscles in his chest still hadn't healed and his right side throbbed painfully. "What happened to Head Ass-hat?" Natasha's smile vanished as her lips pressed into a thin line._

_"Don't ask questions about that, Clint. There are some things you cannot and should not know."_

_He waited for more of an explanation. But none came. Natasha sat, as silent and unmoving as a statue. A beautiful gargoyle perched on his bed. Her eyes were tight and she was staring at a point on the far wall, not seeing anything. "Nat, what aren't you telling me?" Clint shifted to try and sit up but his whole body screamed in pain. He fought past it and sat up onto his left elbow._

_"He's gone."_

_"What do you mean, gone? Gone as in dead?"_

_"Gone as in somehow he was able to bribe a few lower level security agents in Budapest and managed to escape SHIELD custody. He hasn't been seen since."_

_"How the hell did that happen?!" Clint sat up all the way, ignoring the flare of pain in his chest. The anger was stronger than the pain and the adrenaline soon reduced it to a dull ache._

_"They were large bribes. Fifty years pay up-front. To junior agents working shit detail, that probably seemed a lot nicer than actually working for fifty years."_

_"Not that they would have lived that long." No one in SHIELD did. The average age of death was 43, and that included the lame idiots who worked desk duty._

_"That's probably what they were thinking. Not that they ever got much chance to spend that money." Clint couldn't help but shudder at the ice in her voice. He didn't want to know which of her arsenal of unpleasant deaths she had used on the men. "We tracked them down within a couple days. They were dead before you'd regained consciousness. We tried to get information out of them, but they didn't know anything. We've been trying to trace Hass ever since. No luck."_

_"Quick question, who the hell is Hass?"_

_"We didn't know his real name and calling him Head Ass-hat all the time took too long. So Coulson shortened it to Hass."_

_Clint nodded as pieces from the last couple weeks fell into place. The worried looks Coulson and Tasha exchanged. The way Coulson had avoided mentioning anything about their escape. Ignoring Clint's silent questions about Head Ass-hat. (He didn't care what the others wanted to call him. That douche-bag would always be Head Ass-hat to Clint. No one could top that level of Head Ass-hat-ery.) They had both known that Clint would handle the news of the man's escape about as well as they had._

_Clint's blood boiled as he imagined Head Ass-hat, lounging on some beach somewhere. Relaxing and sipping on a piῆa colada. Probably laughing to himself about the stupid agents he had fooled. Planning out how to get his next victims. Clint was hyperventilating, each breath accompanied by a stab of pain. That man deserved to die the most slow and painful death anyone could imagine. He deserved to be suffering for each and every thing he had forced Coulson to suffer. For what he had forced dozens of innocent people to suffer. In that moment Clint knew he wouldn't rest until Head Ass-hat was dead._

_;;;_

"Agent Barton." Clint groaned and rolled over onto his back. Funny, he thought he'd made it to the bed before he had passed out. Not that he minded. The carpet was ridiculously soft and nowhere near the most uncomfortable place he'd slept this week. He looked around for whoever had spoken but saw no one. He sprang up, on the balls of his feet, in attack mode in a heartbeat.

"I'm sorry to have woken you Agent Barton." The bodiless British voice came again. Something in the back of Clint's mind went off. Tasha had mentioned this. Jarvis. Tony's AI who was smarter than Tony sometimes. He rocked back onto his heels, collapsing onto the bed. And damn the bed was soft too. Like it should be illegal for a bed to be this amazing. Hell, knowing Tony it probably was.

"What the fuck do you want, Jarvis?" Clint grumbled. Nat would yell at him for not being especially polite but he didn't give a flying fuck. Jarvis had to put up with Tony when he was hung-over and Clint felt that today might be a day when he could compete with that level of bitchiness.

"My apologies Agent Barton, but Agent Romanov is on her way up to check on you. I figured you wouldn't want her finding you in the state you were in."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Clint's words may have slurred a little in anger. He didn't care. He was being judged by a fucking computer. Who wouldn't get a little angry and sorta freaked out. Cause that meant the computer had been watching him sleep. Had probably been watching as Clint had looked though Phil's things. The invasion of his privacy felt all too familiar right now.

"Simply that, Mr. Stark never found it particularly pleasant when Miss Potts found him passed out in the middle of the floor. Seeing as Agent Romanov has expressed concern for your well-being at a level that surpasses Miss Pott's for Mr. Stark. I assumed that you would prefer for her not to find you thrashing around on the carpet screaming the words 'Head Ass-hat' over and over."

Damn it all. The computer was right. For once something StarkTech was actually functional. Though the bit of attitude was unexpected, and highly appreciated. This Jarvis had been the first one to actually talk to him like a normal human being. The concern for Clint's happiness hidden behind a layer of snark. Jarvis probably needed it to deal with Stark. The man was worse than Clint and Natasha combined when it came to affection.

"Come in." Clint called. Natasha slipped silently into the room. She didn't ask how he knew she was there. He could sense her whereabouts like Tony could sense the nearest coffee machine. She sat down on the bed, her weight barely moving the mounds of comforters piled on it. "How's clean-up coming?"

"Good. We've managed to get all the fires out and we cleared the streets of all alien tech." She looked out the wall of windows. Clint followed her gaze. The scene hadn't changed much. The sky was glowing a pinkish color and the smoke no longer billowed out of the buildings. Instead it just hung as a sort of fog over the city. "Cap and Stark are making breakfast."

Clint nodded. It was a question. She wanted to know if he felt up to their company yet. If he could handle other people. He wasn't sure. The fact it was breakfast meant the colored sky was sunrise not sunset. He'd slept all night without waking. Something he hadn't done for as long as he could remember. A nightmare always woke him. He still felt empty and drained, like there was a twenty ton weight sitting on his chest, but he felt refreshed, awake.

The smell of bacon and coffee wafted into the room. Maybe Clint could risk people, if it meant coffee and bacon. He rolled out of the bed, landing lightly on his feet. Natasha smiled at him, a soft smile that didn't carry to her eyes. Clint felt a stab of guilt. He was so wrapped up in his own pain that he'd never stopped to consider Natasha's. Coulson had been her family too. She had to be hurting right now. But instead of grieving she was here, helping Clint try to cope. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be an idiot, Clint." Natasha smirked and a little of the sadness left her eyes. "Hit the shower then come eat."

She slipped from the room as quietly as she'd entered. Clint headed for the bathroom. He splashed some cool water on his face and rubbed at his skin with an oversized fluffy towel (honestly it was like everything in the place was three times plusher than it had to be). But he didn't shower. Clint stared at the glass and steel enclosure like it was a wild animal trying to rip his heart out. He couldn't expose himself like that yet. Couldn't risk where his mind would go in the safety of the hot water.

"Agent Barton, I suggest you go up and join the others soon. Agent Romanov is starting to worry again and if you wait much longer Thor will have eaten all of the pancakes. Apparently they don't have chocolate chip pancakes on Asgard."

"Right, okay." Clint nodded and slipped gratefully from the bathroom. "Oh, and Jarvis?" Clint waited for the AI to respond with a small hum that said he was listening. Clint tried in vain not to notice how much it sounded like Coulson when he was humoring Clint. "Two things, call me Agent Barton one more time and I'll put an arrow through whatever it is that is your brain."

"Agent Romanov - or Natasha, made a similar threat."

"Work stays at work, dude. No use of the word 'Agent' allowed."

"Understood… Clint."

"Good. And number two: thank you."


	9. A Million Little Pieces

Clint shuffled through the maze of hallways, letting the noise of conversation guide him. Not that it was hard to miss Thor's bellows of laughter. Even before he'd climbed the stairs to the main floor, the noise was enough to make Clint wince. To make him want to turn around and run away. To climb back into bed and bury himself under the covers until the world just faded away. But he knew Nat wouldn't let him do that. She'd hunt him down and drag him out. She wouldn't expect him to socialize, he didn't need to put on a mask and pretend nothing had happened. She just didn't want him slipping into nothingness. Clint knew her concerns were valid. But he'd been there and done that. And letting himself go back there would have been the last thing Phil would have wanted.

The kitchen fell deathly silent the second before Clint entered. Probably super-serum Steve had heard him coming. He slipped in, trying not to notice how they were all very pointedly not looking at him. He felt the urge to flee again. Tasha must have sensed it. She was on her feet, leading him to a spot around the table between her and Bruce. He sat down quietly, not looking at the others. Not thinking about their pity. Did they even understand? Had Nat told them the truth? About him and Phil? He wanted to ask, but he didn't want to know the answer. He didn't want to explain it to them if they didn't know.

Natasha piled a stack of pancakes in front of him and a pile of bacon. Clint's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since the shwarma. When had that been? At least over a day ago. He started munching on the bacon, piece by piece. It felt wrong on his stomach but he kept eating. Mostly because he was pretty sure Nat would force feed him if he didn't. After he'd taken his first couple bites, the conversation started up again. Tony was arguing with Steve about Tony's Iron Man suit. He wanted to go with Thor to Asgard to try and figure out why it had stopped working when he'd gone through the portal. An idea which Steve found to be ridiculous and pointless. Thor simply watched them, not sure who to agree with.

"For the last time Tony, no. You're just trying to get out of further clean-up." Steve said.

"And I told you, that getting out of clean-up is just a bonus. And not even the biggest bonus. Getting to piss off Fury. That's the biggest bonus." Tony was making wild hand gestures, his fork flinging syrup everywhere. Clint twitched his hand to avoid a glob that instead landed on Natasha. Tony dropped his fork, staring at her. Clearly aware that pissing her off would be the end of him. But Nat just wiped the syrup away and continued eating. Tony relaxed visibly.

"I would much enjoy having the Man of Iron accompany to Asgard for his trials." Thor boomed. Tony smirked at Steve who's lips thinned into a tight line. "However," Tony shrank under the gloating smile that Steve shot him. "a visit of this nature should be postponed until the Bilfrost has been rebuilt and travel between the realms is no longer reliant upon Odin. Plus, all of Asgard will be concerned with Loki's trial after we return tomorrow."

Thor said the name without thinking. Clint knew he hadn't considered what effect it might have. To him it was just his brother, but to the rest of them. To Clint... The room fell silent as once again everyone tried to look at him and not look at him at the same time. They were trying to judge his reaction. He managed to keep himself under control. The slight tightening of his hands the only sign of the fury and sadness battling under his skin. Nat noticed, because she was Nat, and let her hand accidentally brush his as she reached for her juice. It was hardly anything but it was enough contact for him to hold onto himself. To keep himself in control. To not just run away and keep running until his heart gave out.

Clint was aware that everyone's eyes were still on him. He needed to say something to shift their attention. "So, you're going back to Asgard tomorrow." It wasn't a question. Only it was.

"Did the fair Widow not relay the information on to you?" Clint shook his head. "Aye. I return to Asgard tomorrow with my brother as prisoner." Clint was grateful that Thor didn't use Loki's name again. Hearing it once was hard enough."There the All-Father shall meter out justice upon him." Thor's voice was full of something Clint didn't want to think about. No one should feel anything other than full-on 'stab a pitchfork through his eye' anger towards Loki after the hell he'd put them through.

After breakfast the rest of them slowly filtered out again. Off to their labs, or to meetings, or to help with more clean-up. Clint didn't pay attention. He was still thinking about Loki. As much as everything that had happened was Clint's fault, it was also Loki's. The man who'd held the spear. Who'd controlled them. Who'd stabbed Phil through the chest...

Clint tried to force the name from his mind. With the name came so many blue-tinted memories. People he'd killed. Arrows and bullets. Pain and death. He wished he didn't remember but he knew he could never forget. The whites of their eyes as he'd shot them. Betraying his own people. So many people. And there could have been so many more. If Nat hadn't stopped him... If he had gotten away... If he'd been fighting on Loki's side in New York... How many thousands would he have killed?

Clint collapsed. The weight of it all falling down on his shoulders. So much blood. So much pain. So much death. His hands would never be clean again. The dam inside him broke and sobs tore at his throat. He didn't care that he was still on the kitchen floor. He didn't care that anyone could find him. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Everything Clint had fought for, the trust, the loyalty, the respect, it was all gone. He could never go back to SHIELD. Never face them again after what he'd done. They should have thrown him off the helicarrier and let him drown in the ocean. It would have been more humane then letting him drown in his shame.

;;;

_It was mind control. How had they not recognized the signs? How had HE not recognized it? Or Tasha? She was an expert of the subject. She should have spotted it. Should have stopped it before things had gotten so out of hand. Should have stopped it before Clint had released the arrows. Before he'd dropped three innocent people to the ground. Clint's knees gave out from under him and he collapsed to the ground. Three people. Three agents. Dead. Because of him. Because his arrows had stopped their hearts. He hadn't known any of them personally but he knew that two of them were married and one had three kids. So really Clint had ended three lives and destroyed even more. He should have known._

_He didn't cry. He was too empty, too hollow, too numb to cry. He felt like his whole body was a shell. An endless black void occupied by solely by the memories of bringing three innocents to the ground. Over and over he felt the pull of his bow, the flick of the arrow on his skin, the spray of warm blood shooting across the room as he hit an artery. Not even his best kills. Not his fastest and not his cleanest. All that blood. And then the looks on their faces. Just before they died. As the mind control link severed and they were themselves again for one split second. One glimmer of their normal selves, twisted and contorted in the pain of death. The pain Clint had inflicted._

_Natasha found him. He wasn't sure how long it had been. She kneeled beside him, resting a hand delicately on his back. Somehow he'd ended up curled in the fetal position. "It wasn't your fault. None of us saw it either. Fury was the one who made the call." Her words were normal, Clint could hear that it was her normal voice, the voice she used when he needed her to be straight with him. Yet somehow she sounded different. Her words didn't hit him how they normally did. The receptors she played to were missing, swallowed by the void inside him. Her words felt as hollow as he did. They meant nothing to him. Did nothing for him. He curled up into a tighter ball, wishing R &D could create some sort of amnesia pill or something to wind back time 24 hours. Just something to make it so today never happened. To erase the shame and guilt that burned through Clint's veins._

_Natasha must have realized that she was having no effect. She left, her feet not making a sound on the smooth laminate floor._

_Another length of time passed. Clint's stomach was starting to growl but he ignored it. He wasn't really hungry. Besides, he didn't deserve to eat. How could he eat? How could he do something so normal at a time like this? What would people say? They'd think he was callous or inhuman. Able to shoot three innocent people and then carry on about his day like nothing had happened. Clint knew it was a stupid thought. That he needed to eat. But he couldn't help it. Because it was true. Clint Barton had built up a reputation of being a smart-ass, no-nonsense agent who did what needed to be done and who would shoot anyone who so much as breathed too heavily in his direction. To Clint's credit that had only been once and he'd just gotten off a 3 week mission to the middle of the fucking desert and he was exhausted and the shot had only grazed the other agent. Not even enough to draw blood. Still, Clint knew that tongues would be wagging the second anyone saw him. That somehow this, not just shooting, but killing fellow agents, would push him out of the 'shock and awe' zone and into the 'shit that dudes a fucking heartless psycho' zone._

_And if there was one thing Clint hated being called, it was heartless. His heart was torn and broken and twisted, but it was still there. He prided himself on that fact. It's existence was a constant reminder of his inner strength. Of his ability to fight past each and every obstacle put in his way. He'd survived his father, his parent's deaths, the orphanage, the circus, Barney, the years on his own before SHIELD had found him. So many times where he'd thought he would fail, where the world threatened to swallow him whole, and he'd managed to come out on top. So it was almost too much for Clint to handle when right now, all he wanted, more than anything else, was to not have a heart. To not care. To not feel the sharp stab of empathy for the three children who had lost a father._

_Coulson came in later. By the gnawing in his stomach he figured it had been almost 12 hours since Tasha's visit. Which meant it'd been at least 18 since the mission. It felt like years. With that same endless loop of images playing in his mind. "Agents Kitton, Barry, and Stenison's next of kin have all been notified." Coulson's voice was steady, the same as it always was on a mission. But Clint heard something behind it. Something that registered and reverberated within the emptiness inside him. "Agent Kitton's wife and children will receive an anonymous donation tomorrow morning." Clint uncurled a little, his muscles stiff and sore from staying still for so long. Even his longest missions didn't usually force him to stay so tight for so many hours._

_He looked up at Phil, trying to read in his face what he heard in his voice. Trying to understand why Phil would give money to Kitton's family. Something about the heavy lines in Coulson's face and his blank eyes registered with Clint. Then it hit him. Phil blamed himself as well. While Clint had been down here feeling like it was all his fault, Coulson had been upstairs, dealing with the fallout head-on, while feeling that it was all his fault. "The money won't do anything. But I had to do something." And this time Phil's voice broke. The emotion threading through as tears filled his eyes. Something deep inside Clint flitted to life in the darkness. A light that needed to make sure that Phil was all-right. Because Phil was Clint's rock, his one constant and steady and unchanging thing. If Phil broke; if Phil went down, Clint would go with him._

_"You didn't make the call. You didn't make the kill." They were the only words Clint could find and they did nothing to voice how he felt. But he knew Phil understood._

_"I know it wasn't my fault. I know that there was nothing to be done. But I know it was the first time you've ever made a kill that wasn't deserved."_

_The light inside of Clint faltered and seemed to splinter, shattering into a million little pieces as his mind realized it's mistake. Phil didn't blame himself. He didn't feel guilt or sadness like Clint did. The emotions he was showing were because he knew how much Clint blamed himself. He'd made the donation because he had needed to do something to make Clint feel better. So much of Clint's old self, the lone wolf who'd managed just fine on his own, thank you very much, wanted to rebel. Wanted to run away and spit at the pity that Coulson's word could mean. But he knew Phil better than that. Knew Phil knew him better than that. His words and action weren't born out of pity, they were out of something that scared Clint even more. Phil's broken voice, his tear-stained cheeks, those were because he couldn't stand to see Clint hurting. The darkness still filled and emptied Clint, leaving him raw and hollow and detached and emotional in a way that made his head spin. But somehow he knew that it'd turn out okay. Because those splinters of light had spewed out into every corner of his being and drowned out the shadows that lived there. The darkness might never go away, but he could survive it as long as he had Phil to help him fight it._

_;;;_

Clint woke up to the sound of his own sobbing. His throat was raw and his eyes ached. He wiped at them, trying to push back the tears. It had taken him months to work past the depression that killing those three agents had brought on. Phil had been there with him every step of the way. Always seeming to know exactly what Clint needed. In the years since, any time Clint had started to slip back into the darkness, Phil had been there to bring him back from the edge. To remind him of all the ways that it hadn't been his fault. That mind-control was sometimes impossible to detect. That if he hadn't killed them they would have destroyed the helicarrier and killed thousands. Right now Clint wished Phil was here to remind him again. To tell him that Loki had controlled him. That none of it was his fault. But Phil was dead. And that most definitely was his fault.


	10. Helena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: this chapter alludes to previous underage non-con.

Clint had made a decision. Had given himself a mission to undertake. It allowed his mind to focus on something other than the gaping hole in his chest. It was one that would take most of his skills and all of his self-control. He was going to see Loki.

He couldn't go yet. He had to wait until everyone else was asleep. They would try and talk him out of it. Except Tasha. She'd knock him out and restrain him to keep him from going. Not to mention the fact that Clint was sure that Fury had warned SHIELD security to not let him anywhere near Loki. So he'd have to sneak in. Tonight. Before Thor took him back to Asgard.

The goal helped clear Clint's head. He managed to hold back his heartbreak enough to ghost his way through the day. He still wasn't allowed to help with clean-up, so he hung around the Tower. The others came and went. He tried to avoid them as much as possible but would stumble across them occasionally.

Eventually Clint's wanderings had led him down to the lab where Bruce had set up shop. Clint hadn't thought twice about entering. He thought Bruce was over at HQ helping with a research project. So he was shocked to see the man bent over a microscope. Clint froze. He looked focused and Clint didn't want to bother him. He tried to back out quietly but accidentally knocked a stack of papers off a table. He swore to himself as Bruce's head snapped up.

"Sorry." Clint was hurriedly gathering up the papers.

Bruce smiled and walked over to help him. "Don't worry about it."

"I didn't want to bother you." Clint muttered.

"I'd have thought you'd be more worried about startling me." Clint's chest tightened and he quickly scanned Bruce's face for any hint of green. Bruce chuckled. "Tony installed an early warning system so I know before anyone enters the lab. Meaning no one can sneak up on me. No surprises."

"You knew I was there?" Clint could feel his cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

"I figured you'd say something if you needed to talk." They stood up and Bruce started re-organizing the papers. Clint was trying to decide if Bruce would be offended if he just turned and left. The idea of trying to make small talk scared the shit out of him. It was way beyond his ability at the moment. ""I just figured, since I'm kinda an expert on not being in control of your own body…"

Bruce crossed back to his microscope, leaving Clint frozen to the spot. He had never thought, never realized, never considered that maybe there would be someone who might understand. But Bruce knew. When the Other Guy took over, Bruce was gone. He could kill hundreds of people and not realize it. Cause it wasn't really him. The emptiness filling Clint seemed to lessen a fraction. Not much. But the darkness was just a hint of a shade lighter. Because no matter what he'd done, Bruce didn't blame him. Bruce understood in a way the other didn't. How hard Clint was trying not to blame himself. And how miserably he was failing.

Still, it wasn't the same. Bruce could control the Other Guy. At least a little. Clint had had no choice. Had gone from being himself to Loki's puppet in a half a heartbeat. Had been overwhelmed by the wave of blue and had welcomed it. Because Selvig had been right. The tesseract had showed truth. The truth it had shown Clint was that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how far he ran, he was still the scared little child he had always been. Clint bit back tears, not wanting to break down here.

"Thanks." It was the only thing he could think of to say. Bruce nodded without looking up from his work and Clint hurried to get out of the room.

"I was in Ohio once. Back in the early days." Bruce's voice stopped Clint at the door. Neither one looked at the other. Feeling like that connection would be too much for this conversation. "A tiny little speck of a town. Only had one stop light. I was wandering along dirt roads and through cornfields that seemed to go on forever." Clint's heart started pounding. Memories pushing at the places where he had locked them away.

"Stumbled upon a county fair." Bruce continued. "Place was packed… The noise of it. The chaos. All those people. The animals. The rides. The smells. It was overwhelming. I lost control before I'd even realized what was happening. Killed three people. One was a boy. Just 10 years old.

Just, I guess, people tell you it's not your fault. Doesn't make it any easier to live with the guilt."

"Thanks." Clint repeated. Still struggling as his worst nightmares beat against his mind. He'd dream about them next. He was certain. They were the next major thing in his life with Phil. Yet he'd been hoping to avoid them. To skip over them.

As Clint walked from the room, as the door was swinging shut behind him, he heard Bruce whisper. "Say hi to Loki for me."

;;;

_~~ "Good boy" The low voice growled. The hands pressed down on Clint's wrists, tightening_ _painfully over the places rubbed raw from the restraints. "I may find more use for you later." ~~_

_A hand touched Clint's shoulder and he jerked awake. In the blink of an eye he had grabbed the attacker's wrist and spun, flinging them both off the bed. He landed on top, straddling the man. He pinned the man's arms to his side with his knees. Clint's right forearm slammed into the attacker's throat as his left hand drew back, holding the knife he always kept under his pillow. Clint stared down at the man as his hand swung downward and he froze. He was panting and he could feel his heart beating in his chest and he knew it wasn't all from the attack. Only it hadn't been an attack. It had been Phil, trying to wake him up from another nightmare._

_They'd gotten good at waking each other from nightmares. There had been a few close calls in the beginning. A black eye here, a concussion there, but they'd learned. Clint was pretty sure that his lessened reactions had more to do with fewer nightmares than Phil being any better at waking him. Clint's nightmares had gotten tamer sleeping with Phil's arms around him. But not this one. This one... it had been years... he tried to push back at the memory of it. To not remember the smell of dirt and sweat. To not feel the man on every inch of Clint's body, swallowing him, suffocating him... making him hate the heat that built under his skin..._

_Clint looked back at Phil, still lying calmly below him. Clint was cutting off the his air and had a knife only inches above his eye, but he looked the same as he did at the office. The same blue-grey eyes, that reminded Clint of the color of the steel shafts of his arrows, staring patiently up at him. Phil's face started to pale and Clint scrambled back. He tried to ignore Phil's quiet gasps for air._

_He needed to get out. To go away. He couldn't do this here, not with Phil... They were on an assignment so Clint had actually been sleeping in more than boxers, he had on sweats and a t-shirt. He grabbed his jacket and sneakers and was out the door before Phil had gotten off the floor._

_Clint ran through the darkened streets thinking of exactly how much he hated Montana. The state was too flat, too repetitive, too empty. Even here, in Helena, the capital, it was so quiet that the silence felt oppressive. Every fiber of Clint's being wanted nothing more than to climb the tallest thing he could find and perch there for days. But he couldn't do that. Phil would expect that. And as much as he needed the height, he needed to avoid Phil even more. Instead Clint turned towards the outskirts of the town (he refused to call it a city. New York was a city. This was not a city). Ten minutes later he hit a cornfield. (Seriously, NOT a city)_

_The sight made his skin crawl and a wave of nausea hit him with enough force to drop him to his knees. The pain felt so familiar... too familiar... he closed his eyes against the tears trying to force their way out. His arms started to tingle. He could feel the man's hands closing on his wrists. Clint pushed himself to his feet and started running again, straight into the cornfield. There was a wrenching feeling in his chest as the stalks touched him and he had to bite back a scream. He hated it here. His whole body was shaking and his vision was swimming. But he kept going. Because if he stopped he'd feel the hands again. On his arms... his chest... his thighs... Clint screamed and pumped his legs even faster._

_At the center of the cornfield was something Clint didn't expect. A tree. It was small, barely ten feet, and hadn't been visible from the road. A tiny flicker of relief flooded him. He climbed up as far as he could on the thin branches and settled down into a comfortable spot. He was only a foot or so above the sea of corn but right now it felt like miles. Yet at the same time it felt like millimeters. He wanted to be further; higher. To get away from the never-ending fields stretching out into the night. He curled up into as tight of ball as he could manage. Digging his nails into his forearms, he tried to use the pain to forget the man's touch._

_~~ Clint stumbled into the room he shared with his brother. Barney was sprawled out, snoring._ _Clint_   _shook him awake. Barney was angry at being woken up, but Barney was always angry._ _Clint tried to_   _tell him. About the man. What he'd done. But Barney cut him off. "Look. I like it_ _here. So don't you go_   _fucking this up for me. You do whatever, whenever, to whoever wants_ _it, if that's what it takes." ~~_

_A stone smacked against Clint's temple and he jerked awake, the motion causing him to lose his balance and tumble out of the tree. He managed to grab a branch and land lightly on his feet. To the casual observer it would have looked like a planned maneuver. Unfortunately for Clint, the only observer he could see was Phil._

_Clint looked around, blinking in the morning sunlight, trying to find an escape route. His heart was pounding heavily against his chest and he could feel the man's hands gripping at his arms. He needed to get away. To keep moving. To be alone. He couldn't handle Phil seeing his meltdown. The look on Phil's face said he knew exactly what Clint was thinking. He moved before Clint could react, tackling Clint and pinning him to the ground._

_"Mind telling me why you slept in a cornfield?" Phil's voice was low, almost playful. It stung at corners of Clint's memories. Reminding him of the man's voice. Phil's weight over-top of him; so like the man's weight had been. Phil's hands exactly where his had been. Panic and fear built up in Clint's gut. His breath caught in his chest and his whole body started trembling. Something about his reaction was enough to let Phil know that he needed to get up. The second the pressure of Phil's body was off of him, Clint sprinted away and didn't look back._

_Clint kept running, through corn, and then across expanses of tall grass, until his feet fell out from under him. He landed ass-first in a river. The water was freezing and the chill knocked the air from his lungs. The river was wide and shallow, only coming up to his chest as he sat in the water. Clint didn't move. The ice cold water swirling around him soaked through his clothes in an instant and bit at his skin. It was like a thousand little knives tearing into his flesh. It reminded him of Budapest. Only this time it was exactly what he needed. The pain pushed back any lingering pressure on his skin._

_A smile tugged at the corners of Clint's lips. For two whole glorious minutes he couldn't feel any of the man's touch. Then his limbs started to go numb. As the pinpricks faded the pressure returned, even worse, until Clint wanted to tear his skin off. He dragged himself out of the water and flung himself down on the bank. The morning air stung at his face and he needed to feel it everywhere. He stripped, throwing his clothes aside, and let the chill breeze find each drop of water on his skin and turn it to ice. It relieved the pressure for another two minutes._

_Then, as feeling started to return to his limbs, his skin started burning (the same way it always does when a frozen limb is being re-heated). The pain of it bought him another two minutes until the man's hands returned. Clint slid back into the water, still buck-naked. This time the water froze him more quickly, but the tingling lasted longer. When it stopped he slid back out of the water again. Letting the wind and then the sun each take their turns in ridding his skin of the awful memories._

_He lost track of time as he repeated the process. In the water. Out of the water. In the water. Out of the water. In the water. Out of the water. In the water. He was faintly aware of the sun climbing higher in the sky and it was directly overhead before anything happened to break the routine._

_"I don't remember skinny-dipping being in the mission briefing." Clint didn't even bother turning to glare at Natasha. She was supposed to be in New York, recovering from her last mission which had gone very wrong very quickly and had resulted in a few bruised ribs. Coulson must have called her. "Ignoring me isn't a good idea." Her voice dropped in temperature and Clint gave a curt nod. Just enough to acknowledge her existence. "Wanna tell me what's going on?" Clint shook his head and curled up tighter into a ball. His limbs were starting to go numb, he'd have to get out again soon. "You're going to end up killing yourself if you stay in there much longer."_

_Clint grumbled but stood up. The pressure was starting to return to his wrists and he might as well get bonus points for cooperating. The air brushed against his skin, covering him with goosebumps. He trudged through the water slowly, lavishing in the pain that pierced at his ankles every time they cleared the water. When he finally reached the bank he flopped down onto his stomach, not even bothering to put up a hand to stop himself hitting the ground face-first. He grunted happily at the pain that washed through him with the impact._

_"Do you at least want to tell me why you're naked?" Nat asked as she squatted down next to him. He shook his head as best he could with it still being planted nose-first into the dirt. "Why were you in the river?" She placed a hand on his shoulder. He hadn't been expecting it. The physical contact obliterated the numbness of the vanishing chill and brought the man's hands back. Clint jerked and rolled away. He pushed himself up on the balls of his feet, ready to make a run for it. Nat sat, frozen. A look of shock and well-hidden worry on her face. Clint focused on slowing his breathing, but it didn't work. The hands were still there, pressing at his wrists, his chest, his throat, his legs. Every inch of skin crawled at the memory of the contact. He dove back into the water, submerging himself entirely. Holding his breath so that he could stay under the surface._

_"Clint?!" Tasha's voice was garbled through sound of the rushing water. Clint lifted his head so that it just barely cleared the water. The cold was only just beginning to claw away the man's touch. "What's wrong? I can't help if you don't tell me." She was still on the shore, her feet pressed up against the water's edge. Still giving him whatever space he needed._

_"I can still feel him." Normally Clint would have been ashamed of how weak his voice sounded. So soft and scared. But he was too worn out to care. Right now he felt weak and shaken and so utterly helpless that he couldn't help but be scared. Nat wouldn't judge him for it. "I can feel his hands on me..."_

_"You're safe now Clint. There's no one here but us. All right? You're safe." Her voice was soft, reassuring but it didn't make Clint's skin crawl any less. Neither of them moved for a few minutes. Clint's body was numb now but he could still feel him. He was too cold to notice that he'd stopped shivering, that he wasn't just kind of numb but had legitimately lost feeling to his extremities. He just sat in the river, trying not to think about that day, all those years ago. And all the other days that had followed. All the times the man had sought him out; had cornered him in some dark place; had forced himself on Clint._

_Clint sunk deeper into the water, letting it engulf his head. He held his breath as long as he could. Then, when his lungs were burning, screaming for air, he held himself under. Finally, against his control, his mouth opened and he inhaled a lungful of water. The last thing he remembered was pain and darkness and the man's hands still clamped tightly on his wrists._

_Clint awoke to the quiet beeping of heart monitors and the smell of chemicals. A hospital. Somehow everything always ended up with him in a hospital. He'd like to go just one fucking week without ending up here. He could feel medications coursing through his system. The pain killers creating a heaviness in his limbs._

_As his mind slowly swam back to consciousness, the feeling returned to Clint's arms. The touch of the man's hands starting to slowly press down on his wrists._

_The sound of someone shifting a few feet away caused Clint's eyes to snap open in a panic. Phil was sitting at his bedside, brows pulled together in worry. The moment he saw Clint's eyes were open his face relaxed somewhat. He reached out, laying a hand on Clint's. The contact was too much. It burned Clint's skin. He yanked his hand back. But it was too late. The shock brought the man's hands back with a vengeance. He could feel the man's nails digging into his flesh._

_Clint's mind blanked. The only thing that existed was the feeling on his arms. He needed to make it stop. Needed to be free of it. Needed to get away. Anything to not feel it._

_He didn't think. Just moved. He leaned off the bed, reaching towards where Phil's jacket was, folded over another chair. His hands wrapped around the small blade that was hidden in the inside pocket. Bringing it to his arm he sliced it across his skin. The pain felt delicious. He twisted the blade so that it was scraping parallel to the bones. Peeling off his skin. He only managed to move it a few inches before a sharp pain exploded at the back of his head and his world went blissfully black._

_When Clint next awoke he waited to move. He could feel something wrapped around his wrists. But it wasn't the man's hands. It was more solid. He tried to move his hands, but the things around his wrists stopped him. Restraints._

_"Clint?" Natasha's voice was soft. He opened his eyes to see her sitting in the chair where Phil had been. Phil! Clint looked around, hoping to see the man hidden somewhere. But they were alone. He tried not to feel disappointment. He had known this would happen. It was why he had run away after the nightmare. Phil had stuck with him through a lot of shit, but even he had to have a breaking point. At some point he had to realize Clint was too fucked up to help._

_"Why'm I restrained?"_

_Tasha raised a single eyebrow at him. "Really? You try and kill yourself then ask why we restrained you?"_

_Clint blinked at her, confused. "I didn't try and kill myself."_

_"Uh, yes, you did. Twice now. First you tried drowning yourself. Then you tried slicing your wrists. Got pretty damn close to hitting an artery, too."_

_Clint shook his head. She was wrong. She didn't understand. "Was just trying to make the hands go away." He mumbled._

_"Can you feel them now?"_

_Clint thought about it. Letting his mind focus on the nerves that wound under the flesh of his arms. There was nothing. Just a strange sort of stinging numbness that he'd never felt before. It was weird. Almost like an itch. It was irritating but endurable. Anything was better than having to feel the man's hands pressing into his skin, claiming him as his own. "What did you do?" He knew that this was Tasha's doing._

_"You aren't the only one with those sort of memories." She gave a weak smile. Clint wanted to reach out to her, to hold her hand, but the restraints stopped him. She noticed the twitch of his hands though and threaded her hand into his. "My first… attack… came a few months after you brought me to SHIELD. Coulson found me in the gym at 3am. Working myself so hard that I could barely see straight. He understood and sparred with me until I finally collapsed. The next time I had an attack, he showed up with a pill. Told me he'd had R &D create it. It affects the nerves in a, well, you can tell how it's affects them."_

_Clint could feel moisture building at the corners of his eyes from his gratitude. "Thank you." He managed to squeeze the words past the lump in his throat._

_"You shouldn't thank me. The pills only exist because of Coulson." She stood up. "You should talk to him. He's worried about you."_

_"I can't – "Clint started. It was one thing talking about this with Nat. She knew. She understood. She'd been there._

_"You can and you will. Phil loves you. Nothing will ever change that. You two both seem to have such difficulty grasping that about each other." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Now get some sleep, Clint." She left the room._

_Clint doubted that was going to happen. He didn't need any more dreams about that man. Or the men and women who had come after him. He'd stay awake until he was certain he could fall into a dreamless sleep._

_Natasha popped he head back through the door. "Oh, and two more things. First, Coulson has made an official notation in your file to make sure you never have another assignment in a cornfield. And second, the meds also give you dreamless sleep." She smiled and disappeared._

;;;

Clint bolted upright. His body dripping with sweat and trembling. He could feel the man's wrists on his skin. But they were different this time. They burned like ice. The way Loki's touch had burned him when Clint had been under his control. "Jarvis!" He gasped. "Tell Natasha: Helena." Clint heard Jarvis reply with an affirmative. Natasha would understand. She always understood.

But Clint didn't know where she was. Whether she was in the Tower or at HQ or out in the city. He couldn't wait until she arrived. He clambered out of bed and into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, setting it for scalding hot, and stepped in. The heat burned his skin in the most wonderful way. A voice in the back of his head warned him to be smart. To not risk doing any actual damage. He only turned the knob to raise the temperature even higher.

"Clint!" Natasha burst into the bathroom and dragged him out from the shower. "Here." She pried open his hand and dropped a single pill into it. Clint downed it using the water spraying from the shower head. Feeling grateful that he still had Natasha in his life as the itching numbness started to spread out under his skin. "Better?" Clint nodded and allowed Natasha to lead him back to bed.


	11. Hass Gets His Answer

When Clint woke up the world outside his window was black. The room around him was dark and empty besides the glowing numbers of his clock and the soft even breaths of Tasha curled up next to him. Shit. She wasn't supposed to be here. It'd be impossible for Clint to slip out to 'visit' Loki without waking her. Why did she have to be so damn protective? She could have slipped away once she'd given him the pill. He wouldn't have known or cared either way. That was the point of the drug.

But she had stayed with him. Because that's who she was. Because she had his back. No matter what.

He studied her sleeping form. Her face was calm but still not quite relaxed, even in sleep. Her body was curled in on itself slightly. Defensive. One of her hands was positioned with the fingertips just brushing the pillow. Reaching instinctively for the weapon concealed there. Either a knife or a gun, depending on the situation. It was probably just a knife now. The Tower had almost as many security measures as HQ. Plus one SHIELD didn't. Jarvis. The AI would warn them if anyone tried to sneak up on them.

There were hints of darkness under Tasha's eyes. She looked exhausted. Clint felt a small wave of guilt. This couldn't be easy for her either. Phil was family to her too. Was the only person besides Clint that she'd fully trusted. Yet here she was, taking care of Clint. When she should be off keeping herself together. If it had been any else, anyone besides Phil, he would have pushed her to do just that. But she had always been the responsible one of the two of them. So if she was here, it meant that she thought it was for the best. For both of them.

Tasha's breathing paused. Just a microscopic change before it resumed the same tempo. Most people wouldn't have noticed it. Clint did. Clint knew what it meant.

"Thanks." He whispered as he rolled over onto his side to face her.

"I was hoping that'd you'd skip over that particular memory." She replied without opening her eyes.

"Me too."

"Need another one?"

"No. I'm good." She opened one eye at him scathingly. "You know what I mean."

"I do." She sat up and rolled from the bed, her hand darting under the pillow and sheathing the knife before Clint could blink. "Which is why I'm driving."

"Sorry?" Clint sat up, working his face into confusion rather than the panic he was feeling.

"To Headquaters. I'm driving."

"Why? – "

She turned slowly to give him a look that told him to drop the act. "If you think I'm letting you do this alone, you're a bigger idiot than I thought. Now, come on. We only have a small window for this to work."

With that she slipped from the room, leaving Clint in stunned silence. Damned woman was too good at her job. Clint should be offended that she could read him so easily, especially when he didn't really feel like himself right now. But he chose to take it as a compliment instead. That she would put that much effort into understanding him. A small smile twitched his lips for a fraction of a second. The first hint of happiness he'd felt since – the smile fell as the guilt and sadness returned. Wrapped up in the one word that would haunt him until he died.

Phil.

;;;

_"So many scars. Some I recognize. Some I remember. Some… well. It almost seems as if you enjoy pain, Agent Barton."_

_Clint stopped straining against the handcuffs at the sound of the eerily familiar voice. A voice that had haunted his nightmares for almost 2 years. Nightmares that ended with Clint waking himself up with his screams and having to cling to Phil. To reassure himself that Phil was safe. That they were safe in their apartment. That that voice, that man, were in the past._

_The burn scars on Clint's legs started aching as the memories came flooding back. Clint's heart started racing and he was fighting to keep his breath steady. At least this time he was alone. At least this time Phil was safe back at HQ with Nat. This time he didn't have to worry about keeping the attention off of Phil. As grateful as he was for that, he hated that he was going to die alone._

_"Do you enjoy pain?" Head Ass-hat walked around so that he was in Clint's line of view. "Is that why you came back to me? Did you want me to continue where we left off?"_

_It was supposed to be an easy mission. SHIELD had gotten intel on a Hydra base in Columbia that was supplying a local drug ring. He'd been assigned to Sitwell's team for the op. Clint was just supposed to cover the team from a distance. But the op had gone wrong. Hydra had known they were coming. Most of the team had gotten out alive. Clint had stayed at his point, covering their retreat. Once the last agent had climbed into the black van and it had sped off down the dirt road, Clint had started for the rendezvous._

_He'd never made it. The jungle was thick and he'd gotten turned around. Next thing he knew he'd stumbled on a house. In the middle of fucking nowhere. Clint should have realized that it wasn't just some batty old lady trying to get out of the city. No one lived out here unless they were hiding from something. A house out here meant that the owner was running from someone. In this case, the owner just happened to be running from Clint._

_"Ignoring me won't work, Agent Barton. I would think you would remember how persuasive I can be." Head Ass-hat stepped closer, drawing out a small blade and letting the cold steel rest against Clint's neck. His skin gave an involuntary twitch and Head Ass-hat smiled. A smile that was burned so permanently into Clint's mind that he could have drawn it from memory. "Do you enjoy pain?"_

_"No. But I'm used to it." Clint growled._

_"Made some new friends since we last met, did you?"_

_"Aw baby, I didn't think we were exclusive. Cause I'm not big on monogamy." Clint leered and felt a hint of satisfaction as Hea- aw, fuck it, he didn't have enough time left to keep saying 'head ass-hat' all the time – Hass's smile twitched. Clint knew he'd pay for the comment, but it was worth it to watch Hass squirm._

_"The number of times you have been tortured does not bother me."_

_"Good. Cause you weren't even my first. Or the best for that matter." Hass dropped his smile completely. His hands going white as he clenched the knife. "Aww, don't be jealous. You'll always have a special place in my heart."_

_Shit._

_Clint knew his mistake the moment the words had left his mouth. Hass was beaming, staring at Clint's chest like it was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. "Your heart. Yes. That's where we left off. Thank you for reminding me."_

_Hass stepped forward and cut Clint's shirt in half. Dragging the blade so that it ran along Clint's skin. Not so much pressure as to draw blood. Just enough to make him shiver and for his hair to stand on end in anticipation of the pain that was coming._

_"Kinky." Clint whispered. He hadn't meant to whisper. But his voice wasn't working right._

_"I am curious, Agent Barton. What ever happened to your partner? Agent Coulson, wasn't it?"_

_Clint's heart was pounding heavily against his chest now. He couldn't let himself think of Phil right now. Of whether they'd ever find Clint's body. Whether he'd just be another MIA agent. If Phil would spend the rest of his life wondering. Phil and Nat wouldn't let it go. They'd keep searching until they discovered what had happened. Clint wished they wouldn't. They didn't need to know how he'd died. They didn't need to have the memories of Hass shoved back on them._

_"Did Agent Coulson ever tell you that he loved you?"_

_Clint's heart skipped a beat._

_He knew Phil loved him. They never said it aloud. But he knew. They both knew. Sometimes words were unnecessary._

_"Because that man most certainly loved you. The ruckus he made as I patterned your skin." Hass ran a hand lightly across the thin lines that crisscrossed Clint's arms. So pale that they were only visible if one knew where to look. "It was so obvious to me how much he cared. Despite how much he tried to hide it. For your sake."_

_Hass looked up to meet Clint's eyes._

_"Did he ever tell you?" The blade pushed against Clint's rib, sinking a fraction into his skin so that it was resting directly on the bone. "You can try and stay silent, but you will tell me eventually. Do not make this more difficult than it has to be." The blade twisted and Clint gasped as the metal hit a nerve. His vision faltered and his whole body canted, trying to escape the fire that was spreading from his chest._

_"Yes." Clint ground out the word. Hating himself as he did. What did it matter if Hass knew? Phil was safe in New York. Hass couldn't touch him._

_"Really?" Hass stepped back, shock visible on his face. "He actually did it? Impressive. Did you say it back?" His eyes darkened again in manic glee. "No… You wouldn't. You know better than that. You know it's safer alone. You'd try and distance yourself from him. Wouldn't you? Clint."_

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

_"I googled you." Hass answered Clint's unasked question. "You're easy enough to trace up until you left the circus. And really, how cliché, running away to join the circus. But it taught you some valuable lessons, didn't it? Hawkeye."_

_Clint was hating this man more and more with every passing second. Something he had thought would be impossible after Budapest. Right now he'd take physical pain over this. This stipping away of all of Clint's barriers. Of Hass pushing himself into Clint's past. Places where not even Nat or Phil were allowed to go._

_"No need to look so frightened. I'll be gentle. I just want the same thing I wanted last time we met." Hass ran the blade along Clint's sternum. It moved up and down with Clint's breathing. "I want to know you. Inside and out. I want to see what makes you you. What makes you fight. What makes you keep going. What makes your heart keep beating. Then, I want to tear it from your chest."_

_"Fuck you." It was the only thing Clint could think to say. Cause honestly, Clint didn't know what was good for him. Phil told him that all the time. If there was something that he shouldn't do, that was the first thing he did. So yeah, he was going to antagonize the guy holding a knife to his chest. It was probably his best bet at a quick death. To get Hass too worked up to think straight._

_"I'm sorry?"_

_"I said fuck you. You aint getting a damn thing from me. Cause you know what? It doesn't matter. I know what I need to know. And I know I'm never going to tell you."_

_"Not even to save your life?" Hass looked intrigued by the turn of events._

_"Nope."_

_"Or at least postpone your death for a little while?"_

_"Not a chance."_

_"Such passion. Who knew? After how silent and sullen you were last time. If I had to make a guess, I'd say that you are hoping to work me up. That this time you're hoping I'll just kill you and get it over with. Because this time, there is no Agent Coulson for you to protect. Am I right?"_

_Clint gritted his teeth, hating how easily Hass was reading him. So many years spent building up a mask and this man was tearing it apart. Clint blamed Phil. And Nat. He'd gotten used to not having to keep his inner self hidden. Not being alone had made him weak. Dependent. He wouldn't trade his relationship with them for anything, though. Not even to stop Hass from tearing into his soul._

_The knife twisted and dug into Clint's chest. The thin blade slipping easily between his ribs. Plunging deeper and deeper. Tearing through layers of muscle._

_"You are so scared." Hass hissed. "I love it. Maybe I will give you your wish. Maybe I'll show you your own blood, straight from your heart."_

_The knife pushed deeper. The metal disappearing into Clint's flesh as red poured out. Staining Clint's chest. Any second now it would hit his heart. It would puncture the muscle. And Clint's heart would stop. The pain would stop. Clint would die here, in a house in the middle of some Columbian jungle. Alone. Except for Hass. And somehow that felt appropriate. Cause in a way Hass was responsible for Clint and Phil finally getting together. So it made sense for him to be the one to tear them apart._

_"And as you bleed out," Hass had leaned close and was whispering in Clint's ear. His lips brushing against Clint's skin. "The last thing you'll ever see is me, leaving, to fly to New York. It shouldn't take too long to track down your apartment. I think Agent Coulson should hear about your death from me."_

_The threat made Clint's blood run cold. Not Phil. Anything but that. Phil was smarter than that. He and Nat would know how to handle themselves. But still. The idea of Hass. In their home. His and Phil's. It was… No. Clint wouldn't let his last thoughts be of that. Phil would be fine. He had to be. Because he was Phil…_

_Clint felt it as the knife finally pierced his heart. The pain wasn't as bad as he had expected. That could be because of the exposed nerve along his rib that was still searing. It didn't matter why. The only thing that mattered was the spray of red that shot from his chest. The smirk of Hass as Clint's body went weak. As his vision went black._

_Hass leaned in again. "Anything you want me to tell Phil for you?"_

_Only one word worked past the fog of Clint's mind. Phil. Hass had said Phil. He knew. Somehow he knew. More than he should. More than anyone should. For the first, and assuredly last, time in his life, Clint Barton felt like his heart had been ripped out. Phil was going to die._

_Clint's world finally collapsed into nothingness. One last word slipping through his lips. "No."_


	12. Words Are Unnecessary

_His chest explodes. Or that's what it feels like. Every nerve in his body is on fire. The pain working through the thick darkness enveloping him. He feels his lungs stretch, taking in air, feels the burn of smoke. Then he sinks back into nothingness._

_;;;_

_The first thing he's aware of is the warmth. An all-over heaviness and heat. Not overly hot, just, perfectly warm. Heaven. It has to be. The last thing he remembered was dying; Hass plunging a knife into his heart. So this had to be heaven. If it was, then maybe the nuns at the orphanage hadn't been lying about how amazing it would be. Because this all-encompassing warmth, Clint had never felt anything quite so wonderful._

_Then the smell hit him. It was clean. Too clean. He knew it instantly. A hospital. So, not heaven. But damn, whatever it was that was creating the warm cloud around him, he'd be stealing it to keep at home. He'd be using it non-stop from now on, unless he was on a mission, and he wouldn't be sharing it with anyone. Not even Phil._

_Phil…_

_Phil…._

_There was something there. A shadowed memory. Something important that he couldn't quite remember._

_It came back as Hass's smile filled his mind. Phil! Hass was going after Phil!_

_Clint bolted upright, eyes snapping open to take in the stark white room around him. Machines beeping loudly around him as his heart raced. Tubes were sticking out of his body. IV and a catheter, and god that was uncomfortable. But it was nothing compared to the pain that shot through his chest. He clutched at the bandages as the cold air bit at his exposed skin. He spared a second to look down at what had been creating the warmth. It looked like some sort of blanket that was being pumped full of hot air._

_He pushed past the pain and regretfully flung the blanket off of him. He had swung his legs out of bed and was halfway to his feet when the door opened and Natasha walked in. Her face twisted into a scowl as she spotted him. "What are you –"_

_That was as far as she got before Clint was stumbling towards her, getting tangled in tubes and cords and still in a haze of painkillers. "Phil. He's going for Phil." Natasha shifted, taking a few steps forward to catch Clint before he tripped over a chair. Clint tried to push away from her. She needed to understand. "Hass. He knows. Please."_

_"Calm down." Natasha used all of her strength to force Clint to stop pushing against her, trying to get to the door. "You're going to rip your stitches if you're not careful."_

_"Don't care! Have to get to Phil!" He tried to push past her but his muscles weren't cooperating. The panic in his veins couldn't overpower the pain that tore through his chest. His vision blacked for a second and he would have collapsed to the floor if Nat hadn't caught him. Clint could feel the warmth of blood spilling across his chest. He called up his last reserves of energy to get his feet under him again. "Need to stop him." His words were starting to slur as his body slipped into unconsciousness._

_;;;_

_When Clint next awoke, the cloud of warmth was back but overshadowed by the searing pain that felt like it was splitting his chest in two. He gasped against it, wincing as the movement of his ribs exacerbated it._

_"Shhh" An achingly familiar voice accompanied a gentle hand intertwining with Clint's. His eyes snapped open. Phil was there. Sitting in a chair pulled up tight against the side of Clint's bed. Looking as put-together as normal, minus the fine layer of stubble._

_"Phil." Clint squeezed his fingers tighter around Phil's, reassuring himself he was real. When the man didn't disappear in a puff of smoke, Clint relaxed, easing himself back against his pillow with an audible sigh._

_"You going to tell me what happened?" Clint shook his head. Not yet. He couldn't talk about it yet. The memories of Hass still to fresh. "Nat said you mentioned Hass?" Phil's voice tightened worryingly. Clint just nodded and let his eyes close, to keep back the tears biting at the back of his eyes. "He did this?"_

_The question didn't make sense to Clint. Shouldn't they know? They saved him, didn't they? He was alive and that meant someone had saved him. If they'd gotten him out of Hass's hideout in time to save his life, then they must have run across Hass. How did they not know that? He opened his eyes to stare at Phil._

_Phil must have read the confusion in Clint's face. "Sitwell managed to track your path through the jungle. His team infiltrated the house and found you but a single man was seen disappearing down a tunnel. He locked the door behind him. It took too long to blast it open and the helipad it led to was empty when they got there."_

_"They must have been damn close, to get to me in time." Clint noted the way Phil's mouth readjusted into a thin line and his whole body seemed to stiffen._

_"The doctors estimate that you were dead for less than 30 seconds when Sitwell found you. You're lucky he didn't write you off instantly. I'm told the amount of blood was… significant."_

_"Tell him I say thanks."_

_"You can tell him yourself when he gets back." Phil's shoulders didn't relax but he placed his other hand over Clint's, rubbing his thumb in a gentle circle over the skin. "I'm sure that by now someone's informed him that you're awake."_

_Clint raised an eyebrow. "Since when is Sitwell concerned about my well-being? Geez. Go on one op with a guy and he gets all clingy." Clint's smirk falls flat at the way Phil swallows shifts awkwardly. "What aren't you telling me?"_

_"Clint." Phil hesitated and it made Clint's heart hammer painfully against his chest._

_"What is it?"_

_"It's March." Phil whispered the words. It took a moment for their significance to sink in. Clint's blood turned to ice._

_"But… the mission… it was…" He swallowed hard. "It was November."_

_"Yes. You were in a coma for four months."_

_"But – I – how?" Pieces weren't fitting together in Clint's head. He reached up for the bandage that covered his chest. The skin underneath aching at even that slight contact. "Why hasn't it healed?"_

_"It has. Three times already." Phil took a deep steadying breath. "There have been a series of… attacks. One week after you were brought in, a nurse slipped in and stabbed you. She disappeared before anyone knew what had happened. Three weeks later, there was a monster attack on the city. Medical was in chaos. A junior agent with a shoulder injury stabbed you during the confusion. He also managed to escape." Phil's voice was growing thinner, angrier. "After that, I had motion sensors installed in the room. Any time someone moved, I knew. Four weeks in, I started relaxing. A technician disabled the system and stabbed you. We caught up to him, but he put a bullet in his brain before we could get any answers."_

_Clint didn't respond. Working the information over in his mind. "I knew I was an asshole, but I didn't realize so many agents wanted me dead." He laughed once. The movement hurt his chest._

_"They all used the same knife. We think they were sent by whoever tried to kill you in Columbia." He hesitated. "You told Natasha it was Hass?"_

_Clint gave a small nod. Just enough for Phil to understand. But Clint's mind was elsewhere. Why was Hass sending people to try and kill him? How was he getting to so many agents? How was he getting past SHIELD defenses? Why hadn't Hass gone after Phil? If Clint had been in a coma for four months, Hass could have done anything. So why keep coming after him?_

_"I was hoping that we'd seen the last of him in Budapest." Phil continued. "We've been trying to track his movements since, but the ma-"_

_"Phil."_

_"n's good. We couldn't find a tra-"_

_"Phil."_

_"il anywhere. It's like he was a gho-"_

_"Phil!" Phil finally fell silent. "Can we not? Just for a bit." Phil smiled softly. The gesture was tiny but transformed his whole face. Suddenly Clint needed to feel him closer. More than just a hand on his. "Come here." Clint shifted so that there was space on the bed next to him. Phil sat down next to him, pulling Clint's hand into his lap. Clint shook his head. "Closer." Phil raised an eyebrow as Clint reached up and pulled Phil down until he was lying on his side beside him. The length of his body pressed against Clint's side through the blanket._

_Clint huffed. He pushed Phil away, until he neatly rolled off the bed. He ignored the wounded look on Phil's face and pulled back part of the blanket. Phil laughed. "Seriously?"_

_"Just get in the damn bed."_

_Phil shrugged off his jacket and shoes before sliding under the blanket and resuming his spot next to Clint. "Better?" he asked as Clint hummed softly._

_"Perfect."_

_Clint closed his eyes and sank back into the bed. They lay together in silence for a while. He felt Phil's hand trace along the edge of the bandage lightly. The touch with only the smallest hint of pressure, that rose and fell with Clint's breathing. The gesture was so small and sweet. Clint remembered Hass's taunt. The words that neither of them had said. That neither of them had ever needed to say. But now, Clint wasn't so sure._

_After a while, Clint felt the words burning at the back of his throat. He wanted to say them. Needed to. But he didn't know how to broach the subject. He bit at his lip and took a deep breath, trying to work up his nerve._

_"What's wrong?" Of course Phil would notice Clint's internal struggle. Well, better to just say it. Like ripping off a band-aid. Straight to the point._

_"I love you."_

_Phil's fingers faltered for a second before continuing their path along Clint's skin. "I love you, too."_

_Clint let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Feeling a tension that had been in him since his meeting with Hass finally slip away. He'd known. But it was nice to be sure. To hear the words out loud. Clint made a decision. He grabbed Phil's hand from his chest, spreading it out, palm up. "Close your eyes." He opened his own just long enough to make sure Phil obeyed the order before shutting them again. Then Clint used his index finger to start writing letters on Phil's palm._

_They had done this before. Whenever they were in a long debriefing and couldn't say anything out loud. Their hands intertwined below the conference table as they held whole conversations. Or if they were out in the field and needed to remain silent. Or when they were at home together. Alone. It was something Phil had started, much to Clint's amusement. He had often teased him about it feeling like they were high-schoolers._

_Clint's finger wrote out the letters. W – I – L – L . He placed his closed fist into Phil's hand, their sign for the end of a word. U. Another closed fist. "Clint, did you really just – " Clint smiled at Phil's protest and kept going. M – A – R – R – Clint felt Phil's body tense next to him as he realized what Clint was writing. What Clint was asking. Clint kept writing. –Y – a closed fist. M – E – He drew a question mark then laid his hand out flat over Phil's. Their sign for the end of a sentence. A signal that it was the other's turn._

_Phil's hand shifted and his fingers interlaced with Clint's, squeezing slightly. Clint's heart hammered painfully against his chest as he waited for an answer. He counted out the seconds, waiting for Phil to respond. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. At Sixty he started to feel long forgotten walls slipping into place. Walls that he hadn't felt around Phil since that day when he thought Phil, still just Coulson then, had rejected him. Clint shifted, meaning to turn onto his side, away from Phil, but Phil grabbed his hand to stop him._

_Slowly, he felt as Phil guided Clint's hand with his own, moving it up to his lips. Clint felt Phil's lips press carefully against his palm before his tongue touched it, warm and moist. Phil's tongue moved, tracing out letters. Y – E – S and ended it with a kiss against Clint's palm._

;;;

Clint jerked awake as a hand pressed gently against his shoulder. His eyes snapped open to see Nat leaning over him, looking worried. "What part of limited time window didn't you understand." She helped pull him to his feet and threw him his gun as soon as he'd changed his clothes. She led him out of the room and down the hall to the elevator.

"What about Jarvis?" Clint eyed the corners where he knew the AI's cameras were hidden.

"He and I have an agreement." Clint was fairly certain he didn't want to know. But Nat and Jarvis had known each other since before the Avengers. Back when she was undercover and working for Stark. So maybe they were already friends. Clint tried to wrap his mind around the idea of befriending a computer. It felt as ridiculous as when people named their phones.

Once they were buckled into Nat's SHIELD issue black SUV, she turned to him. She seemed hesitant, which felt odd to Clint. Nat was always so sure of herself. "What was the dream?" Clint jerked his head to look at her. She instantly started to back-pedal. "Sorry. You don't have to answer. I was just – "

"You miss him too." Nat nodded once. "It was Columbia. And the hospital after." He saw her lips twitch up into a smile.

"I remember that. Four months of Coulson so on edge that I thought he had finally snapped. Then you wake up and propose." She laughed quietly. "He had me picking out rings with him the moment you fell back asleep. I'd never seen him so excited."

"It was the first time I told him I loved him."

"Yeah, like anyone could have missed that." Nat rolled her eyes. "I mean, the way you two just happened to sit next to each other in every debriefing. Did you really think no one noticed you writing on each other's hands? I'm pretty sure Fury only ignored it because he couldn't think of a way to discuss it without embarrassing himself."

"You're all just jealous."

"Not really. Been there, done that. Nothing to write home about."

Clint laughed. "Bitch."

"You know you love me."

"Doesn't mean you're not a bitch."

"Hey, who's the one helping you talk to Loki." And just like that the air seemed to vanish from the car. The light-hearted mood replaced with the now-familiar ache in Clint's chest. "Sorry."

"No. It's fine. You're right." Clint let his head drop against the window as Nat pulled out onto the nearly empty street. "Do you know what they did with the ring?"

"No."

Clint nodded. He pulled on the chair that hung around his neck. The gold band on the end glinted in the passing street lights. He twisted it, reading the words etched inside. Phil's had the same phrase inside. Three words Clint had chosen. "words are unnecessary"


	13. A Short Reprieve

_"Can I go home now?" Clint wined. He'd been in Medical for over a week and he was starting to think about breaking his promise to Phil and making a break for it through the air vents._

_"They need you to stay another night." Phil put a hand on Clint's shoulder. "For observation." Clint groaned and let his head flop back on the pillows. For observation. That was all anyone ever said. Every time Clint asked about his health, when he'd be released, why they needed to keep him here, they always responded with the same two words. For observation._

_"To observe what, exactly?" Phil's hand tensed slightly for just a moment. He didn't answer. "Phil? What aren't you telling me?"_

_Phil sighed and sat down heavily on the bed. "We're still trying to understand why Hass wants you dead so badly. And how he managed to convince three agents to attempt it."_

_"So you're not observing me, your observing to see if anyone else tries to kill me?"_

_"Not exactly, but you're safer here than at home."_

_"Yeah, tell that to my heart. Which has been stabbed. Three times. In this room." Clint didn't say that Phil was right. That Hass had known Phil's first name, which was fairly near classified information for anyone outside of SHEILD. And he knew about Clint's history with the circus. Which had also become classified by SHIELD once he'd joined up. It had been one of his stipulations for joining. If he'd discovered all of that, Clint had no doubt that he could find out where he and Phil lived._

_"Clint." Phil seemed to choke on the word. Clint felt guilty about what he'd said. He knew what it was like to watch Phil bleed out. He couldn't imagine how hard it had been for Phil. Watching Clint die so many times. Sitting at his bedside for months while Clint was in a coma._

_"I'm sorry."_

_Phil smiled softly and grabbed Clint's hand. "I won't lose you again."_

_"You won't." Clint leaned forward, ignoring the stab of pain as his stiches stretched. "You're stuck with me. Till death do us part."_

_Phil laughed. A genuine, whole-hearted sound. "Yeah, we have to actually get married first, for the vows to apply, you know."_

_Clint rolled his eyes. He reached a hand out and wrapped it around the back of Phil's head, pulling him closer. "Shut up and kiss me." Phil did. They were in each other's arms, panting heavily, when the door to the room swung open a minute later. Phil instantly drew away, despite Clint clinging to him and trying to pull him back. It was only Tasha after all. Clint didn't need to look up to know that._

_"Fury needs to see you." Tasha said from the doorway. "Something about expense reports or personnel files or something. I wasn't listening."_

_Phil sighed and stood up, straightening his tie and smoothing out his jacket. "I'll be by later." He said to Clint as he strode from the room. Clint read the truth behind his words. He'd be checking in to make sure Clint didn't make a break for it. The moment he was gone Tasha shut the door and took his spot on the bed._

_"All right, spill."_

_"What?" Clint tried to think of what she could be talking about. "Spill what?"_

_"You've been acting weird ever since you woke up."_

_"Well…. I was kinda kidnapped by Hass, killed by him too. And woke up four months later. After apparently dying three other times. So yeah, I'm acting a little weird. Sue me."_

_Tasha leveled a glare at him that said how very not amused she was. "Which explains why you were so quick to pop the question. But not why you're being so accommodating. You've never stayed in Medical 'just for observation'."_

_Clint sighed, considering if he should tell her or not. Who was he kidding? This was Tasha. If she wanted to know something, she'd find out. Telling her outright was easier than a few broken bones. "Hass knows too much."_

_She raised one eyebrow. "That it? Hass knows too much?"_

_"He knew things that are classified."_

_"Which isn't surprising since he managed to kill you four times. Three by proxy."_

_"Tasha." He growled and she dropped her small smile._

_"I'll check your apartment. See if anyone's been there. Any bugs. The works. But you're going to have to tell Coulson eventually. He'd be wondering about you staying so willingly in Medical if he wasn't still riding the high of getting engaged." She rattled off the words, once again reminding Clint of why he loved her so much._

_As it turned out, Clint didn't have to warn Phil after all. He showed up the next day, and Clint was preparing to explain everything, when Phil said that he had to go on Stark-sitting duty for a while. Clint's annoyance was only half fake. His sympathy was genuine though. Stark could be a pain in the ass. Then Phil had explained that Tasha was going with him. She'd apparently been on undercover Stark duty for a while, but they were stepping it up. Clint wasn't happy about losing both Tasha and Phil, and he let Phil know that, grumbling until Phil shut him up with a kiss. (Which they both knew had kinda been Clint's goal all along.)_

_He slipped out of Medical the second Phil left HQ. The quinjet lifted off at 0800 and by 0801 Clint was crawling through the vents. He headed for the SUV Phil would have left in the parking garage. He needed to get home. Tasha had already swept the apartment and had found nothing. No bugs. No signs of forced entry. No sign that Hass had been there. But Clint wanted to check for himself._

_Seven hours later, Clint collapsed onto the pile of couch cushions on the floor. The apartment was clean. It made no sense. Hass knew about the apartment. He had to. Clint knew it. So why hadn't he done anything? Why hadn't he gone after Phil? Not that Clint was complaining. Not at all. The fear he had felt in his last few seconds, as he had felt his life slipping away, thinking that Hass was going to kill Phil. Well, he would gladly live his whole life and never feel that again. Even the memory of it caused his chest to ache with loss._

_He couldn't live without Phil. There was a time when he would never have admitted that. Least of all to himself. But it was the truth. A truth that had come to replace and erase all of the doubts and rejection that had defined Clint's youth. He needed Phil. Because he trusted Phil. Phil gave him a reason to keep fighting, a reason to keep living. Phil had fixed Clint and broken him at the same time. He had healed old wounds but had ingrained himself into Clint's very soul in the process. Like the metal pins that held the bones of Clint's leg in place. Remove him, and Clint would fall apart._

_The drive back to SHIELD was long. Clint took his time, driving slow and taking detours, enjoying being outside base. He stopped alongside a small park that he often visited with Phil, marveling at how the trees were starting to bud. It felt like he had been at this very park only a week ago, but it had been months. The leaves had been shades of red and gold. Phil had mocked him as Clint had zigzagged across the paths, stepping on every crunchy leaf he could find. Up until the point where Clint had made a game out of who could find the crunchiest one. The day had ended with a lot of kissing and cuddling and trying to rub warmth back into their frozen hands and – other parts._

_Clint managed to sneak to his barrack at HQ without anyone spotting him or trying to drag him back to Medical. The room was barren and had a distinct air of abandonment. Clint hadn't slept here since he'd moved in with Phil nearly a year ago. He threw the bag of clothes he'd grabbed from home onto the floor and flopped face-first onto the bed. It was easier than staring at the plain grey walls. At the space here that had once been his but now felt like a huge step backwards. It didn't matter that he knew this was temporary. That it was self-imposed. That it was a safety measure to hopefully keep Hass from killing him a fifth time, this time in his own home. (SHIELD security seemed to have taken the three attempts on his life rather personally and had stepped up their measures quite noticeably.)_

_All that mattered was that this was_ his _bunk. Not_ their _apartment. This room only felt like isolation and solitude and a constant reminder that Phil was off on assignment for an undisclosed length of time. He'd been gone less than a day and Clint was already lonelier than he ever remembered feeling._

_The next two weeks dragged by at a tortuously slow pace. Medical had given up on trying to keep Clint under observation and had simply revoked his access to the range and training facilities. They'd even somehow managed to swing getting Clint's bow locked away in Fury's office. Which was how Clint found himself in the vents above Fury's office. He'd been sneaking up here in every spare moment, trying to find a moment when Fury wasn't there so he could get his bow back. Over a week and there hadn't been a single opportunity. Even when Clint had tried at 4 in the morning. Fury was always there, working away. Clint was starting to give some of the rumors about him being in-human some serious consideration._

_So Clint overheard when Fury got a call from New Mexico. Something about space debris of questionable origin and intent. Something about the fact that Fury had left the call on speaker seemed out of place to Clint. Fury had been careful to make sure anything even somewhat classified had been handled silently, or at least silently enough that Clint couldn't hear it. He was pretty sure it was more than just Fury being paranoid. If Clint's instincts were true, and let's face it, they were, Fury had let him overhear the call on purpose. And there was only one reason for that._

_Clint dropped down out of the ceiling, a smile already covering his face. He didn't let it falter at the glare Fury leveled at him. "Yes, Barton, you can go. Medical is willing to clear you for field duty as long as you refrain from using your bow or climbing anything." Clint stifled a laugh, cause really? Had they met him? That rule would last all of about two seconds. "The entire team has been notified of these stipulations and are allowed to enforce them using any means the team leader sees fit." Clint grinned wider, cause, once again, had they met him? That wasn't going to work. "By the way, Coulson's heading up this op." That would._

_Instantly Clint's emotions were battling, torn between despair (because Phil would most definitely make him stick to the rules) and overwhelming joy at getting to see Phil. The conflict must have shown on his face because Fury sighed and rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office before I decide to write you up for each and every time you were in the vents."_

_"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, sir." Clint smirked, suddenly in a much better mood. He had to stop himself from winking. "But I've been told that any unauthorized admittance to the ventilation system violates Code 34B-16 Section C Paragraph 219." Clint ought to know. Phil's made him fill out that paperwork often enough that he could quote the whole thing by heart. Fury wasn't amused. Clint sobered._ _"When do we leave?"_ _Phil wouldn't be happy if he came home to a stack of forms writing Clint up._

_"You leave with the rest of the team in twenty. Coulson will meet you there."_

_"He's not riding with us?"_

_"No. Since Agent Coulson is currently on another mission, he cannot simply drop everything and come running. He should be less than an hour behind you." Clint nodded, understanding that Fury was leaving no room for negotiation._

_"Well then, I guess I'd better go pack." Clint turned for the door. Fury's voice stopped him halfway out the door._

_"Two last things." Something in his tone made Clint turn to look back. Fury's face had softened so much that it was almost even for frightening. "And if you repeat this to anyone I'll ship your ass on a yearlong solo trip to Greenland." Fury's face hardened slightly and Clint felt himself relax at the return of normality. "But in the future, if you plan on dying in the field, please leave it in the field. Stop bringing your killers home with you."_

_Clint laughed, and damn that hurt. He kept forgetting the scar over his heart."And the other thing?"_

_"If you do anything to render my best SHIELD agent emotionally incapable of his normal functions, I will make sure the pieces of your body are too small to be found." Clint figured that with Fury a 'don't hurt Coulson' was as close to a 'congratulations on getting engaged' as he was going to get._

_"In all honesty, sir, if I did anything of the sort, I'd hand you the knife."_


	14. Puente Antiguo

_The flight to New Mexico was too long for Clint's liking. He hated being stuck in such tight quarters with so many other agents. They left him alone, all except for Sitwell who was across the aisle from Clint. Sitwell chatted the entire flight, yammering on about useless things like a controversial bill in the Senate and the upset in the Middle East. Things that Clint only paid attention to if it was part of an op._

_The drive from Albuquerque to Puente Antiguo was hardly any better, but at least he could turn on the radio to drown Sitwell out. Within minutes he was bored with the endless desert landscape, so he curled up in his seat and tried to fall asleep. It was uncomfortable, trying to find some position that didn't pinch at the fresh and puckered scar on his chest. He tried shifting as much as he could without drawing Sitwell's attention, but no position was any better, so he gave up after a few minutes._

_Clint jerked awake, unaware of when he'd fallen asleep, as the car pulled to a stop. The view outside the window was still barren sand, but he could see a mass of people in the distance. Dozens of cars and trucks were circled around a huge crater. Clint could just make out the sounds of drunken revelry from within the pit. A single black SUV was parked away from the group, positioned so that it could see everything that was happening. Clint had to fight to keep the grin off his face as the car's driver emerged. Clint scrambled out of the car, forcing himself to drop into step behind Sitwell rather than run ahead._

" _I was told you'd be arriving later." Sitwell spoke as he took his spot at Coulson's side._

_Clint stood on Coulson's other side. Maybe placing himself just slightly too close and accidentally brushing his shoulder against Phil's. "Since when has Couslon ever been late?"_

_Phil gave Clint a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, a single momentary acknowledgement, before turning to Sitwell. "Set up a perimeter. I want this area clear a.s.a.p." Sitwell nodded and disappeared, leaving Coulson and Clint alone. "I missed you." Clint smiled, but Coulson's face was still impassive, refusing to show anything lest any of the other agents saw his calm exterior slip._

" _How was Stark-sitting duty?" Clint asked, hoping to elicit some sort of response. All he got was a small eye roll and a hint of a sigh. "That bad, huh?"_

" _He was using a Captain America shield prototype to prop up some machine he was working on."_

" _Ah." Clint nodded and twisted his face up into an annoyed scowl since Coulson couldn't. "And did you taser him?"_

" _Unfortunately, I maintained my professionalism."_

_Clint chuckled. "I've told you that you need to loosen up, let yourself go once in a while."_

" _I'll consider it when you stop using air ducts as your personal playground." Phil glared at Clint out of the corner of his eye._

_Clint dropped his head. "Fury had my bow." He whined._

" _Which you can't use yet anyway."_

" _Doesn't mean it needs to be locked in his office." Clint scuffed a boot along the ground, doing his best to not feel like a petulant child. "What if I just wanted to hold it, or polish it or something."_

_Coulson just raised an eyebrow at Clint as Sitwell came jogging over towards them. "Area's all clear, sir."_

" _Thank you, Sitwell. Now let's get to work." Coulson spun on a heel and marched towards his waiting SUV. Sitwell jogged back off in the direction he'd come, leaving Clint suddenly alone. He spared a quick glance at the line of trucks retreating from the crater, the bed lining of one resting in the back of another, with the broken truck trailing along behind. "You coming?" Coulson called and Clint smiled at the affection in the man's tone._

" _Not yet." Clint winked as he climbed into the passenger seat. He swore he could hear Phil's eyes roll. Clint only laughed and leaned over the center console, grabbing Phil by the tie to pull him closer, and gave him a warm kiss. It lingered for a few moments longer than necessary, neither willing to break the connection, until finally Clint broke away and settled back in his seat. "By the way, I missed you too." He whispered as Phil started up the car._

_;;;_

_The day passed in a flurry of activity that kept Coulson busy while Clint found himself more or less watching from the sidelines as the temporary camp went up. He had tried to help, only to be yelled at by Phil about heavy lifting. He still managed to help with some of the smaller tasks, like checking the perimeter and making sure that the armory was well-stocked. He had been thrilled to see a bow hanging on one of the hooks. It wasn't his normal one, it was built for someone right-handed, but Clint wasn't picky._

_He was running his hands over the bowstring, the feel of it achingly familiar against his fingertips. Every fiber of his being wanted to nock an arrow and let it fly; to simply slip away from the chaos and find a spot in the desert to practice. His aim would be lousy. To him, it'd only been a few weeks, but his arms hadn't held a bow in months. Clint would have to work twice as hard to try and build them back up to his old standards._

_The sound of a frustrated sigh came from the doorway. Clint didn't need to look up to know who it belonged to. "Don't worry. I'm just looking." Clint assured Phil, settling the bow back onto the rack._

" _Last I knew, looking didn't involve hands." Phil said, striding into the room to stand next to Clint, the door clicking shut behind him._

_Clint smirked. "Yes, well, sometimes what you're looking at is just too beautiful and you need to use your hands. To map out every little detail." Clint ran his hands across Phil's chest as he spoke, moving closer until he was crowding into Phil's space._

_Phil's eyes blinked closed, in a look Clint recognized as him trying to savor a moment. A soft smile spread across Phil's face. He looked so blissfully at peace that Clint couldn't help himself. His hands never stopped moving, dancing along Phil's chest and back and shoulders, as Clint leaned in for a kiss._

" _mmm, what was that for?" Phil asked, eyes still half-shut._

" _Sometimes hands aren't enough either."_

_;;;_

_Clint was in his bunk on the phone, listening to Tasha rant about Stark, when the alarm went off. Within seconds Clint was out the door, grabbing his coat and fitting his earpiece into his ear. A storm had moved in and the downpour only added to the confusion. Clint could hear the sounds of fighting over the comms._

_He was halfway to the armory when he heard the sound of Coulson's voice in his ear. "I need someone up high." Clint smiled. Coulson might as well have asked for Clint by name. His happiness faded slightly when Coulson added, almost as an afterthought, "With a gun." Clint rolled his eyes as he crossed the armory. He reached towards the sniper rifle, but his eyes landed on the bow hanging just below it. He felt like it was calling out to him. He only hesitated for half a heartbeat before grabbing the bow and running from the room. He'd deal with the fallout later. Whatever punishment Coulson had planned would be worth it to feel the draw of a bow again._

_As he climbed into the basket and positioned himself above the ring of plastic-walled tunnels, Clint felt like himself slipping into his mission mindset, letting all outside concerns and thoughts wash away with the rain. He looked down at the huge blonde mass of muscles that strode through the mud towards the strange hammer, a trail of bruised bodies behind him._

" _Do you want me to take him down, or would you rather send more guys for him to beat up?" His snark returning easily, as comforting as the weight of the bow in his hand. He couldn't understand why the doctors were so against him using a bow. The strain against the scar on his chest was barely more than an itch. He had handled whole missions in much worse shape than this._

_The blonde mass of a man had almost reached the hammer at the center of the ring. He had a determination in his step that Clint respected. "You better call it Coulson, cause I'm starting to root for this guy?" His arms were starting to ache, an unfamiliar sensation and a new weakness that he was never going to admit to. The situation wasn't helped from having to use his weak hand._

" _Hold on. I want to see this."_

_The world seemed to go silent as everyone watched the blonde intruder wrap a hand around the hilt of the hammer, and pulled. It felt like the entire space deflated as the hammer didn't budge; still solidly attached to the stone below it as it was when every other person had tried._

" _All right, show's over."_

_Clint trudged back through the mud, stowing the bow in the armory, before heading back to his bunk. He stripped out of his wet clothes and collapsed face-first onto his bed, naked. As the adrenaline faded from his system, he could feel the strain of the muscles across his chest. He could feel his heartbeat in the veins around his scar, which was throbbing with each beat._

_He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew he was jerking awake at the sound of his door slamming open. It bounced off the wall and Phil let it slam shut behind him. The look of barely restrained fury on his face made Clint's stomach churn. He sighed, letting the weight of his own body press him down further into the thin mattress. He grimaced as the movement pinched at his scar._

" _Why must you always be so difficult?" Phil's eyes were screaming at him and Clint could see both of his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. "I knew I should have locked up that bow the second I saw it. But I trusted you to behave yourself, just this once. Because I trusted you to understand that this is serious, Clint. This isn't just a wound from some stray bullet. You were murdered. Four times in four months. You're body needs time to recover."_

" _I'll be fine, Phil." Clint muttered, speech garbled by the fact that half of his face was pressed into his pillow. "Just need to get my muscles toned back up and I'll be in top form in no time."_

" _This isn't about your form!" Phil growled and Clint flinched away from the anger. Well-buried memories flashed through his mind, too fast to be distinguishable but more than enough to make Clint's heart pound against his ribs. "I'm sorry." Phil softened his voice and stance as he noticed Clint's reaction. "I didn't mean to yell, it's just," he sighed. "May I sit?"_

_Clint nodded and rolled over, pulling the blanket with him so that it covered his lower half. Phil perched on the edge of the bed as Clint lay on his side, ignoring how the position pinched at his chest._

" _I talked with Natasha. She told me your concerns about Hass." Phil wasn't looking at Clint, finding his hands twisting in his lap more appealing. Not that Clint could blame him, since he was very pointedly looking everywhere except at Phil. "She said you thought he knew too much."_

" _He did." Clint whispered. "He knew things about me, my past."_

_Phil sighed again and finally met Clint's eye. Clint's breath caught at the apology he saw in Phil's eyes. "He knows because I told him." Phil held up a hand to stem the protests that were about to spew from Clint's mouth. "When Hass first captured me, he kept asking me things. Strange things. Nothing about SHIELD or our jobs, just – He wanted to know what I cared about the most._

" _He told me that the more I talked, the quicker my death would be. And I figured that, might as well. It wasn't like SHIELD was going to pay the ransom. I was going to die there. Might as well make it the least painful one I could."_

_Clint wanted to reach out, to wrap Phil in his arms, but he didn't move. "You had to know Tasha and I would come for you."_

_Phil shook his head. "I knew the situation was too risky. I knew the rules. I didn't realize Fury would ignore them quite so blatantly. But anyway, um, I gave Hass what he wanted. I talked, for hours, telling him about the one thing that I cared about more than anything else in the world. About how he was so strong, not just physically, but mentally. About how he would take on the world, do absolutely anything to defend what he thought was right; to protect the things he cared about. About how he had a childhood worse than anything I could imagine, which was saying something since I was being tortured by Hass at the time and the things I could imagine were pretty graphic._

" _I told him about his eyes, that were the most perfect shade of blue and that could somehow express more than the most talented poet. About his hair, his smile, his arms, sculpted from a lifetime of using a bow. I told him everything I could think of, down to my own cowardice to admit my feelings."_

" _Me?" Clint's eyes grew wide as Phil nodded. He wasn't sure if he could believe it, that Phil had cared about Clint that much, for so long._

" _When you and Natasha showed up, he recognized you instantly. That's why he sent six of his men after you; he wanted to take you alive." Phil smiled at some memory. "I don't think he expected you and Natasha to be quite so talented. Pretty sure Natasha was the first person to escape him."_

_The smile dropped from Phil's face. "I was still in my cell when they brought you in. I could tell by Hass's face that he knew who you were…" Phil paused, screwing his eyes shut. Clint waited, holding his breath. "I didn't want to beg, I knew that was what he wanted, but when he brought out that blowtorch-"_

_Phil's eyes darted to the bit of Clint's legs that poked out from the end of the blanket. The skin was puckered and pink from scars that stretched from his knees down to his ankles. Clint twitched the blanket to cover the scars. The movement only caused the frown on Phil's face to deepen. "Phil-" Clint reached out a hand, but Phil shifted away from it, so he let it fall onto the bed between them._

" _He couldn't understand you. He couldn't grasp how you could stay quiet. He said –" Phil swallowed, "He said that he didn't know if he could break you, but he knew he could use you to break me." Phil's voice broke. Clint sat up, ignoring the groan of his protesting muscles, and wrapped his arms around Phil, resting his chin on his shoulder._

" _I'm fine, Phil. I'm right here." He laid a soft kiss on Phil's cheek, using the closeness to reassure Phil of his presence._

_Phil smiled and reached back to place on Clint's cheek. "I know that. But Hass certainly gave it his best shot. And until he's dead, I'm never going to stop worrying about you." Phil turned so that they were face to face. "So could you do me a favor and take it easy, just for once?"_

" _Sure." Clint smiled. "I promise, nothing too stressful until the doctors clear me."_

" _Good."_

_;;;_

Clint jerked awake as the car pulled to a stop. He glanced over at Tasha who was looking at him, curious. "How long was I out?" He asked, stifling a yawn.

"About two minutes. Why? What'd you dream about?"

"The three weeks up to Puente Antiguo and the Destroyer."

Natasha's mouth pressed into a thin line. "The first time we dealt with Loki. That was only a year ago."

Clint nodded, understanding the concern she wasn't voicing. The dreams were advancing faster than he'd expected. At this rate, he'd reach his last memory of Phil within another day, at most. It was a thought that clenched at his heart and turned his blood to ice.

"Come on." Natasha climbed out of the car and he followed her. "We need to move if you want to get a chance to talk to Loki."


	15. Loki's Offer

“Hello Clint.” Loki’s voice was dripping with a venom that sparked blue-tinged memories of blood-covered arrows in Clint’s mind. He pushed them behind a mental wall as Tasha stepped closer to the thick glass wall that separated them from the god. Loki’s eyes flicked to her, his smirk momentarily switching to a snarl, before he turned back to Clint. “I was wondering when you would come back to me.”

Against his better judgment, Clint took a step forward, placing himself so close to the glass that his breath caused a small patch of fog. He could feel the blue ice wanting to flood back through him. He took a deep breath, his heart beating heavy warmth through his veins.

Loki’s smile widened at Clint’s nervousness. “Is this merely a social visit or did you have a question that you wished to ask me, my Little Hawk?”

“Don’t call me that!” the name freed Clint’s tongue and started words spewing from his lips. “You have no right to call me that. I’m not your little puppet and you have no control over me anymore. I just wanted to come here and rub our victory in your face before I watch you leave tomorrow to face Odin’s wrath.”

“But it is a hollow victory, is it not?” Loki’s eyes gleamed, reflecting the fluorescent light as he shifted forward, his arms resting casually on his knees. “Your heart is hollow because despite winning the war, you lost the thing which you prized most.”

“Shut up.” Clint forced the words past the lump forming in his throat. “Just shut up.”

“Would you like me to tell you the look on his face as my blade pierced his heart?”

Clint’s vision blurred as he blinked back tears.

“Or about how he only came after me because of what I’d done to you?”

“SHUT UP!” Clint screamed, slamming both fists against the glass.

Natasha put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back slightly. “Clint…” He closed his eyes, talking a second to focus on taking a deep breath. He had known seeing Loki would be difficult. This was the god of mischief after all. But Clint needed this. Because somewhere in Clint’s mind he knew that these dreams of Phil were Loki’s fault.

When Clint finally opened his eyes, Loki was staring straight back at him. His grin widened and he stood up, sweeping across the cell until he was inches from the glass. Clint was forced to tip his head back just slightly in order to maintain eye contact. “I can see the questions forming in your mind, my Little Hawk. And I will gladly give you the answers you seek. You have but to ask.”

“Clint…” Natasha’s hand was still on Clint’s shoulder, grounding him to reality. He turned to look at her, noting the concern in her eyes. “We can go right now. Just say the word and we’re gone.”

He nodded once to show that he understood. But they couldn’t leave yet. The dreams would be over soon and Phil would be gone forever. The thought made Clint have to pause and fight back a wave of emptiness. He needed to know if Loki was causing the dreams or not. But more importantly, he wanted to know if Loki could somehow make them continue. If there was a way that Clint could hold on to this one last piece of Phil.

“Are you causing the dreams?”

Loki chuckled once, his grin still twisted into a wicked gleam. “I can do many things. Dreams of the past however, are not my specialty.”

“That isn’t a yes or no. Are you causing the dreams?”

“No. Not in the way you mean.”

Clint crossed his arms and took a step back from the glass, giving himself a better vantage point to study Loki’s body language. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“You want me to be honest with you, Little Hawk?” Clint growled at the continued use of the nickname but let it slide. He needed answers and if a demeaning nickname was the price, he’d pay it. He nodded once when Loki raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for an answer. “The dreams are as much the Widow’s fault as they are mine.”

“Excuse you.” Natasha’s voice was low and threatening.

“I mean no disrespect. I say this because if you had not –“ Loki hesitated, searching for the right word, “released – Clint from my control over him at the exact second you did, then he would not be having these dreams of his Agent. However, due to your impeccable timing, the link severed at the exact same instant that the scepter pierced Agent Coulson’s heart.”

“So this all has to do with the power of the Tesseract?” Tasha voiced Clint’s question for him.

“I doubt you mortal would understand how it functions. But to simplify it to its lowest definition, then yes. The Tesseract used the bond that Barton and Coulson already had.”

“What happens when the dreams stop?” Clint’s heart was pounding against his ribs. This answer would decide everything.

Loki’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Why are you so fascinated by these dreams? Is this what you came to discuss with me? Because I would have thought you would have wanted to ask me my price for restoring Agent Coulson to life.”

Clint’s world came to a screeching halt, his mind scrambling to grasp what Loki had said. “Y – you –you can bring him back?” Clint stumbled over the words.

“In a manner of speaking.” Clint tried not to notice how much hope had built inside him during the last few seconds or how quickly it dissipated. Of course Loki was just toying with him. “I can give him life but I cannot restore the memories your dreams have stolen.”

Clint’s head snapped up, his eyes boring into Loki’s. “My dreams have stolen his memories?” None of that made sense. But this was gods and magic. The Tesseract had already turned Clint’s whole world completely on its head. It could probably steal memories more easily than Clint could hit a stationary target from ten yards.

Loki’s lips twitched upwards like he was fighting not to smile at Clint’s naivety. “You must have wondered why your dreams were in fact memories. Each moment you have dreamt of since your Agent’s death, if I restore him to life, he will no longer have those memories.”

“But you can still bring him back?”

“Of course. It’s a rather simple process.”

“Then do it.” Clint snapped the words with more force than he needed. But this was Phil. The chance to bring him back. To see him one more time. It didn’t matter what Phil would or wouldn’t remember. Clint just needed him back. As horrible as it would be not having Phil remember the important moments from their lives together, at least he would still remember their wedding. He would still remember enough to love Clint. Wouldn’t he?

“Clint, do you think this is a good idea?” Tasha asked, shuffling Clint away from the glass to a corner where Loki couldn’t overhear. “This is Loki. We can’t trust him.”

Clint sighed. “I know, Tasha. But if there’s even the slightest chance of getting Phil back, don’t you think we should take it?”

“I think you are responding based solely on emotion. We need to discuss this with the others. With Fury. We should at least ask Thor if Loki can do what he claims. And even if he can, Phil won’t be the same. He won’t remember Budapest. Or New Mexico. Or Helena. There will be whole chunks of his life gone.”

“I realize that. I don’t care. As long as it’s still him then I won’t care if he doesn’t remember any of it. I just- “ Clint’s throat tightened as he fought back a wave of emotions. After everything this week had brought, losing himself, coming back only to find Phil dead and gone… The thought of maybe getting him back, in any way, was almost too much. “I just need him.”

Tasha sighed and lifted one hand to his cheek, resting it there softly for a moment. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch instinctually. It was only a moment and then her hand was gone and she strode back across the room towards Loki who was watching them patiently. “What’s your price?”

“My price is not of import at this moment.”

“It is of import.” Natasha snapped. “Because I want to know everything before I discuss this with anyone else. So name your price. Now.”

Clint felt his eyes widen at how demanding Tasha was being. Loki was the one with the control in this situation yet she was talking as if he was asking a favor of her instead. Clint almost expected Loki to recoil at her tone and take back his offer. Instead he simply nodded slightly, his face dropping a just a hint of his permanent smirk. “My price will cost you nothing.” He emphasized the ‘you’. “All I ask is that while you go running off to ask permission from your – superiors” he sneered the word, like the very idea of it offended him. “You are to leave me here with my Little Hawk to keep me company.” Loki turned his green eyes to Clint, looking him up and down as if he were a piece of meat and Clint couldn’t repress the shiver that shook his body at the way it brought those blue-tinged memories dancing back into the front of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update. I ended up changing the entire ending for this fic halfway through this chapter, and I like this ending better. But anyway, yes, I'm still working on this fic :) And actually, as I've read back through it, I've noticed a lot of things I would like to revise/edit. So I will try and hurry up and finish this version then either post a separate revised version of this fic or else just make an extremely long chapter after the last chapter and post all the revised version there. I haven't really decided yet, but I will be revising it eventually. :)


	16. Paying the Price

Clint had managed to convince Natasha to agree to Loki’s deal. She promised to be a quick as possible, so that Clint wouldn’t have to be alone with him for very long. Clint had assured her that he could handle it. But as the door clicked shut behind her, he was fairly certain that he couldn’t.

It had only been a few days since Clint had broken free of Loki’s control. He could still feel the icy blue fingers sifting through his mind, pulling him apart. He could hear Loki’s voice whispering praise and promises; telling him all of the things Clint didn’t realize he needed to hear. Playing into his fears of abandonment and of falling short of people’s expectations.

“There is no need to be quite so nervous, my Little Hawk.” Loki laughed as Clint settled into the one chair on the far wall, facing the cell. “Not so long ago you were so eager to talk with me. Why the unease now? I have not changed any. If anyone has any right to be upset, it is me.”

“Right.” Clint scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning back, resting his head against the wall and stretching in legs out in front of him. “Like I should feel sorry for you when you just attacked New York.”

“I do not want your sympathy. That would gain me nothing.”

“So what do you want?”

“Would you believe me if I said that I wanted to do the right thing?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I thought not. You are a foolish mortal. You do not see the situation in its entirety.”

“You are welcome to try and explain it to me. I promise to do my best to understand, despite my being a lowly mortal.”

“It is not worthy of the time that it would require.” Loki said dismissively. He began to pace back and forth across his cell, twisting his hands together and muttering under his breath.

Clint watched his ever movement, on edge for any sign of magic or foul play. As Loki’s hands began to glow a golden green, Clint opened his mouth to warn him to stop. Before he could get the words out, his eyelids grew unbearably heavy and him mind was dragged unwillingly into sleep.

 

;;;

 

_“What is this place again?” Clint gawked at the massive splay of buildings behind the barbed wire fences. They were over an hour away from the nearest town, far out into the vast expanse of New Mexico desert._

_“It’s the Dark Matter Research Facility.” Phil answered, pulling up to the first of several gates and rolling down the window so that he could show his ID to the waiting guard. “It’s been one of Fury’s pet projects for the last couple decades. It didn’t really become a focus until recently though. We didn’t have the right people to understand the technology being developed here.”_

_Clint waited until they were between guard stations before responding. “I don’t see why they need me to babysit a cube.”_

_Phil smiled softly. “Because you have the best eyes of the entire organization.” He handed over his ID again to the next guard, turning to Clint as the guard stepped away. “Plus, Fury needed me here and this was the only way I could get him to agree to you coming along.”_

_Clint couldn’t stop grinning as they made their way through the rest of the guard stations._

 

;;;

 

Clint’s eyes snapped open. His heart was thrumming in his ears as the world around him came back into focus. His chest was heaving and he felt as if he’d run a marathon. His mind was spinning in a cloud of gold sparks that barely let him struggle towards his thoughts. Clint glanced up at Loki, standing at the edge of his cell and staring back at Clint. His face was twisted into a snarl and his hands were already moving again, the same glow forming around them.

Clint had a single second to panic. To feel a wave of fear so powerful that it made his stomach heave. This had been Loki’s plan all along. To make him dream and steal more and more memories from Phil. As his eyes once again were forced to close, he had just enough time to pray that Natasha would find him before Clint dreamt of the most important day in his and Phil’s life.

 

;;;

 

_It wasn’t the most boring job Clint had ever done, but it was close. Sitting up in the metal observation platform offered him the perfect vantage point to see the entire research lab. From the rows of computer banks to the platform where the Tesseract was housed. The blue box was barely more than a dull speck from this distance and he couldn’t really see what all the fuss was about. So this thing could maybe someday be used as a power source, he didn’t see why that meant it needed a babysitter when he could be spending his time on more important things._

_Clint wasn’t complaining though. Cause Phil was here. They shared an apartment on base. They got to spend every night together and eat dinner together more nights than not. It felt like the most domestic thing life they were likely to get. The only thing missing was Natasha, who was still going out on missions. But she stopped by whenever she got the chance. Those days were always his favorite. She would join him at his perch, just sitting with him as they watched the scientists bustling about below. They didn’t talk. They didn’t need to. They’d known each other for too long to require words anymore._

_She’d spent most of the last week with him in his perch before heading out on assignment the night before. Now his nest felt like there was something missing. The metal felt cold and hard beneath him as he draped his legs over the edge. He crossed his arms on the lower rail and rested his chin on them, letting out a sigh._

_An hour later Clint’s mind was starting to drift. Place a sniper rifle or bow in his hand and he could focus intently on nothing for days straight. But a sleepy laboratory in the middle of a secure SHIELD base, and there wasn’t enough of a threat or purpose to keep his attention. He needed a goal, some sort of objective. Not just the orders to sit and watch. Sit and watch was pointless. Sit and watch didn’t get them any new information or take out any enemies. All sit and watch did was give Clint enough time to start planning out exactly how he wanted his and Phil’s wedding to go._

_It would be something small; as few people as possible. Because Phil wouldn’t want a spectacle. He would just want to head over to the nearest courthouse once they were back in New York. Five minutes; in, out, and done. He was excited for the marriage, not the wedding. Clint didn’t mind the idea of a private wedding, but he did want at least a little bit of a party. This was a once-in-a-lifetime event. He wanted to treat it as such._

_There was a dull “ping” of something hitting the metal ladder that led up to his perch. He glanced down, quickly snapping out of his daydreaming and into attack mode. Phil was standing on the ground, staring up at Clint with an amused look on his face at having caught Clint off-guard._

_Clint tried to scowl at him and failed miserably, causing Phil to smile widely. Phil shifted his stance, a subtle movement that Clint perfectly understood to be him asking Clint to come down and join him. Clint made a show of recrossing his arms and dropping his head onto them, lips set in an exaggerated pout._

_He couldn’t hear Phil sigh from this height, but he knew it happened. Just like he knew Phil would give in and climb up to sit with Clint, something he tried to avoid because he didn’t like ladders. He hated the way they didn’t leave either of your hands free. Clint didn’t care. This was base, there wasn’t any real threat here. But if anything did show up, Clint would cover him, and Phil knew that._

_“You can be so childish sometimes.” Phil grunted as he dropped down next to Clint, swinging his legs over the side._

_Clint laughed. “Says the man who’s scared of ladders.”_

_“I’m not scared of them, I just find them inconvenient.” Phil huffed._

_“Oh, yes. Phil Coulson’s true enemy: inconvenience.”_

_“With that, you just lost the right to have any skittles.” He pulled out a half-empty one pound bag from some inside jacket pocket. Clint had stopped being impressed ages ago by Phil’s ability to hide large amounts of candy in his suits._

_“You don’t even like the green ones.” Clint whined._

_“It’s not that I don’t like them, I just know they’re your favorite.” Phil’s tone was still insulted, but he settled the bag down between them anyway. Clint gestured for Phil to take the first handful which seemed to make up for the ladder quip._

_They ate silently for a few minutes, Phil passing Clint all of the green ones and Clint giving him the few reds that he found. Phil had a tendency to sift through and just pick out all the reds as soon as they opened a new bag. Every purple one was tossed into a separate bag for them to give to Tasha the next time they saw her._

_“So, what were you thinking about that had you so distracted?” Phil asked._

_Clint shoveled a handful of skittles into his mouth, using it to buy himself more time. He chewed slowly. He had started formulating a plan for their wedding but he didn’t want to give anything away to Phil. He knew that even mentioning the word wedding would lead to him accidentally telling him everything. An excuse popped into Clint’s head and he quickly swallowed the mouthful of skittles. “I was just planning out what exactly I want to do to you tonight.” He smirked._

_Phil rolled his eyes. “You are such a liar.” He leaned forward, giving Clint a quick kiss. “Though I look forward to seeing what you could come up with.” As Phil stood and climbed back down the ladder Clint knew that he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else for the rest of the afternoon._

 

;;;

 

Clint snapped back to consciousness feeling himself swimming in instant panic. He needed to get out of the room; to find someone; to get help. He was absolutely certain of what the next dream would be and he could not live with taking that memory from Phil. Clint had worked for months to make sure that had been the perfect day. It had been worth it when their wedding had gone off without a hitch.

The second his legs would respond, Clint was on his feet. He stumbled across the room, heading for the door to the hallway. He was regretting his and Natasha’s ability to sneak through base without alerting any of the guards. This would be so much easier if there was someone waiting outside the door for him; if he could just yell and have help come running. But they’d tricked the guard into leaving his shift early, and now Clint was alone.

Loki laughed at Clint’s awkward attempt to flee. Out of the corner of his eye Clint could see the golden green glow building between his hands again. His heart twisted in his chest and he sped up. He could feel sleep trying to overpower him and he fought against it. Even as it drug him to his knees, he still scrambled towards his escape. “No… please, no.” He reached out for the door, his fingertips brushing against it as his eyes slipped shut. “No…. Phil.”


	17. One Perfect Second

_There was a slight drizzle of rain pattering against the window of Phil’s office as Clint stepped into it. He couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he remembered the old saying about rain being good luck on wedding days. Though Phil, sitting hunched over his desk, had no clue as to the importance of any of this. As far as he knew, today was just any other Tuesday morning. But Clint would be correcting this misinformation shortly._

_“What’cha working on?” Clint loped across the office, perching himself on the edge of Phil’s desk and leaning across to try and read the paperwork upside-down._

_“Nothing of importance. Just getting an early start on next week’s A13-7B’s.” Clint just nodded, not really sure what that was but knowing it wasn’t too important. He knew that because Fury had promised him that Phil would have absolutely nothing of importance to do today. A promise Clint had wheedled out of him by convincing him that, yes, Phil would want him as his best man. Which wasn’t a lie, but why waste an opportunity to get something out of it for himself? Like a chance to give Phil a perfect day ending with a  surprise wedding._

_Clint hopped up and rounded the desk, standing behind Phil and wrapping his arms around him. He let his head drop onto Phil’s shoulder. “Well then,” he whispered, loving the way Phil’s body relaxed into Clint’s touch. “I think there is a much better way we could be spending our day.”_

_“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not having sex in the office.”_

_Clint smirked, leaning even closer so that his lips were just millimeters from Phil’s cheek. “Not what I meant. Though that would have been fun and I_ will _break you on that eventually. But I was thinking more along the lines of that big ol’ city of sin just a short little helicopter ride from here.”_

_“Vegas?” Phil pulled away and spun around in his chair so that he could look up at Clint. “You want to ditch work so that we can spend a day in Vegas?”_

_“I wouldn’t be opposed to extending it to two days, if you’d prefer.”_

_Phil rolled his eyes and sighed a long-suffering sigh. “I know you get restless being stuck here, but this is actually important work.”_

_Okay, Phil was_ not _getting the picture. This was not a discussion. Clint had spent far too long (well, a couple weeks) planning this. But he’d always known that convincing Phil to play hooky would be the hard part of the day. Time to step up his game a bit._

_He took a few small steps and seated himself in Phil’s lap, straddling him. He leaned in close, again  letting his lips hover just over the skin of Phil’s cheek. Not quite touching but enough that he could feel the air shifting with Clint’s words. “Let me rephrase this. I’m going to Vegas. Not because I’m restless or bored but because it has been far too long since I’ve had a real honest to goodness date. And I would really prefer it if my fiancé was the one I was going on said date with.”_

_Clint could feel Phil’s resolve weakening and waited, motionless. He could tell the second he had won by the way the body beneath him shifted, moving to get up. He quickly hopped up, holding out a hand to help Phil to his feet. He added a little extra strength to his grip and tugged Phil off-balance so that he tumbled into Clint’s arms. He could feel Phil chuckle at the move and twist so that he could give Clint a quick kiss. But Clint was quicker, dodging away from Phil and across the room in the blink of an eye, careful to show an excess of eagerness at the prospect of the trip to Vegas to keep Phil from questioning why Clint had avoided the kiss._

_;;;_

_The helicopter ride to Vegas was short and uneventful. Clint was trying his hardest not to actually bounce in his seat but was failing miserably. Phil kept glancing over at him and smirking which only made Clint bounce even more. Cause this was finally happening. After all these years. All the near-death experiences and actual-death experiences. The months of pining and of waiting. Now it was going to happen. By the end of the day today, Clint and Phil would be married._

_;;;_

_Clint was practically dragging Phil through the casino lobby. Phil had never been a huge gambler. Which was exactly why Clint was going right past all of the tables and slots and weaving his way towards a large set of doors along one wall. The room was a sea of people moving constantly and of deafening bells and whistles. It reminded him a bit of the midway back at the carnival. Only here he had less of a chance of starting a fight. Slightly._

_He paused in front of the double doors, letting Phil’s attention wander to the words inscribed on a plaque on them. “It says Authorized Personnel Only.” Phil sounded hesitant. All too aware of Clint’s affinity for ignoring the rules. Which Clint couldn’t blame him for, but for once he actually had gotten permission._

_Ignoring Phil’s silent judgment and protest, Clint knocked three times on the door and stepped back as a security guard pushed it open. He eyed both Clint and Phil before nodding his head and stepping back to let them pass. Phil didn’t say a word, just followed Clint into the plain cement hallway beyond._

_There was a second guard waiting who walked in front of them, leading them down a flight of stairs and through a maze of corridors. “Where are we going?” Phil whispered, low enough that the guard wouldn’t hear. Clint only grinned in response. There was no way he was giving away the surprise._

_They finally climbed up another flight of stairs and stopped at a single door. Clint motioned for Phil to push the door open and step through it. The other man froze the second he crossed the threshold and, sliding around him, Clint could see why._

_The door had let them out facing a twenty foot wall of glass that housed the single largest aquarium Clint had ever seen. Behind it were thousands of fish of every color and shape and size. Little black and white ones with long wavy fins. Huge green ones that moved slowly, stalking the sand and rocks that littered the tank floor. A tower of coral reef spread out along the entire length of the aquarium and Clint knew that there were hundreds of tourists just on the other side of that coral barrier, looking at this same tank from the normal visitors side._

_A single shark drifted past and Phil strode across the space, reaching out his fingers so that they brushed against the glass that separated him from the creature. Clint had never seen Phil’s face so open and honest or filled with such childlike awe. He mentally patted himself on the back. He’d known Phil’s obsession with shark week had gone a lot deeper than just “interesting programing”._

_Clint stepped up beside Phil, carefully winding his arm through his and twining their fingers together. Phil leaned into the touch ever so slightly. “How - you-“_

_And damn if Clint wasn’t dumbfounded at just how huge this was to Phil for him to be forgetting to actually finish his sentences. “I called in a few favors. Do you like it?”_

_“It’s-“ Phil trailed off as another shark joined the first, this one swimming so close that its fin pressed up against the glass. Phil moved his hand to the same spot, letting his fingers follow the fin’s movement for a few inches until the shark turned away. Clint would take that reaction as a yes._

_;;;_

_Clint wasn’t sure how long they stood there simply staring at the fish swimming past. At some point they got tired of standing and Clint had dragged over two chairs he’d found shoved into a nearby closet. For the first couple hours they were silent as they sat together, but Clint couldn’t stay silent for long, even if this was a gift for Phil. He’d started just muttering comments under his breath at first. Small things, like giving names to some of the fish and making up backstories. Pretty soon he and Phil were creating stories and interactions that would be at home on any daytime soap opera._

_When his phone finally buzzed that it was time to move on to the next part of the day, Clint was genuinely sad to leave. But then he remembered what the rest of the day held and the fish no longer seemed that interesting anymore._

_They followed another security guard back through the maze of hallways and this time Phil didn’t ask questions when the guard stopped in front of another set of doors. Again Clint gestured for Phil to go first. They crossed the threshold and found themselves in one of the hallways of the casino that was lined with shops and restaurants. Clint took Phil’s hand and dragged him over to one the small boutiques, the likes of which Clint would never set foot near under normal circumstances. Phil glanced over at him and Clint could see the doubt flash ever so briefly across Phil’s face._

_Clint just winked and dragged Phil further into the store. A man bustled over with a tape measurer and shuffled Phil off into one of the back rooms. Clint thought he seemed much more comfortable with the situation than Clint was as another man pulled Clint away in another direction. But this was a necessary evil. They were going to be in perfect fitting suits for tonight, damnit. Even if the very thought of being so buttoned up made Clint’s skin crawl._

_An opinion which changed drastically when Phil finally stepped out in a dark grey (nearly black) suit that fit him so fucking perfectly that it was taking every ounce of Clint’s self-control not to strip him right back out of it. Instead Clint stepped forward and ran a hand down the lapels, appreciating the hard muscles underneath. “You clean up nice, sir.” Clint mumbled._

_“You see me in a suit every day.”_

_“But not like this.” Clint let his hands skim across the soft fabric before letting them come to a rest, wrapped gently behind Phil’s neck. “It’s different.”_

_“Oh really? How so?”_

_“Because that’s for work. This is for me.” Phil just rolled his eyes and leaned forward. And Clint wasn’t used to having to deny his wants. He had always been the type of person to go after whatever he wanted at that particular moment, damn the consequences, except where Phil was involved. Pulling himself back, leaning away even as Phil leaned in for a kiss, was honest physical torture. But he had a plan for today and he was following it to the letter. “We’re gonna be late for our dinner reservations.”_

_Clint could feel Phil’s hesitation as Clint turned away from him but he let it slide. For which Clint was extremely grateful._

_;;;_

_The restaurant was the single fanciest place Clint had ever seen, let alone set foot in. Half of the menu was in a language he couldn’t identify (some subset of Italian) and languages had never been Clint’s strong suit. But wherever Clint lacked, Phil stepped in. And by the time they made it to dessert Clint had been reminded once again of all of the reasons that Clint wanted to marry him._

_Halfway through the greatest tiramisu Clint had ever tasted, his phone buzzed again. He didn’t have to look to know what that it was a text from Natasha saying her and Fury had arrived. Show time._

_Clint took a deep breath, trying to fight back the sudden wave of nerves. He wiped his hands off on his suit as he stood up and reached for Phil’s hand. “Ready for the next part of today?”_

_“Absolutely not.” Phil smirked as he fell into step with Clint, letting himself be led from the restaurant. “Because at this point I’m fairly certain I’m either dreaming or there is some sort of horrible news waiting for me at the end of all this.”_

_Clint tried to chuckle but the nerves were forcing his throat to close._

_“Clint?” Phil noticed that there was something wrong and pulled hard on Clint’s hand, spinning him around so that they were face to face. Not caring that this was Vegas and they were in a casino hallway and that there were hundreds of people around them. Clint took another breath, again trying to steady himself. But that little voice of doubt was starting to turn into a scream in the back of his mind. The voice that said he wasn’t good enough and that Phil deserved better and that it was presumptuous of him to assume that this was the sort of wedding day Phil would want. Even as he was having his minor freak-out, Clint could feel Phil’s hands resting comfortingly on his shoulders._

_“Talk to me, Clint. You’ve been acting weird all day. What’s going on with you?” Phil leaned in closer, placing one calloused hand on Clint’s cheek and tilting his head so that their eyes met._

_Clint had to close his eyes in order for the words to make it out. “You really want this, right?”_

_“Want what?” Phil asked softly. “If you’re referring to us, to this relationship, then you know-“_

_“But you really want to marry me?” Clint’s eyes snapped open and locked onto Phil’s._

_“Is that why you did all this? Because you know I don’t need all of this. You don’t need to prove anything or earn anything-“ Clint pressed a finger to Phil’s lips to shut him up. His words were having the same effect on his self-doubt that they always did and he could feel his original excitement starting to return._

_“That was a yes or no question.” Clint chuckled._

_“Yes.”_

_“Good.” Clint spun and started dragging Phil down the hallway again. At least it could be a hallway. It could be also be a street. Clint didn’t even know. It was wide enough to drive three cars down side-by-side and the entire space was overflowing with flashing lights and moving people and he let that energy wash over him. There were no clocks or windows so he couldn’t tell what time it was but he was certain that they were still right on schedule._

_“Is that Natasha?” Phil sounded hesitant. “And is she in a dress? Why isn’t she in Kabul? What’s going on? And is it Fury?”_

_“Well, see, there’s sorta this tradition about having witnesses.” Clint smirked as he glanced over at Phil as they finally came in view of the sign for the wedding chapel. He saw the dots connecting in Phil’s mind and the way his eyes widened ever so slightly. “Plus, Nat had the rings.”_

_“Have I mentioned lately that I love you?”_

_“You could always remind me.”_

_;;;_

_A whole day without kissing Phil, no matter how much he had wanted to, because he’d been saving it for this. For this exact moment when they were finally married and Clint was suddenly staring at the man in front of him and calling him ‘husband’. He had planned out each second and it had all gone off without a hitch and now there was a solid silver band wrapped around his ring finger. It had all been worth it. Each moment of their lives together, every villain they’d faced, every time they had nearly lost the other. It all boiled down to this one perfect second as they said ‘I Do’ and Clint leaned forward for the first of a lifetime of kisses as a married man._

_;;;_

Clint clawed his way back to consciousness screaming and crying. Even as the little details of reality started to return, the cold cement floor he was lying on and the sound of footsteps running towards him, Clint’s mind was back on the dream. Their wedding day. What Clint still counted as the single happiest day of his life because it had been a day all about making the perfect day for Phil. And now it was gone. Stolen. Lost in a blue glow that had already fucked with Clint’s life so much.

He could hear voices around him. Could feel familiar hands on him; recognizing it as Natasha he let himself be pulled to his feet. Let himself be led from the room and down the hallway now filled with agents. He couldn’t find it in himself to care. Even if Loki was true to his word; even if he managed to somehow bring Phil back, it wouldn’t be his Phil. Not anymore. Not with all of their most important moments together having been ripped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to write cause I struggle with writing this extent of fluff, but I figured y'all deserve it after the amount of angst I've put you through. But of course I couldn't let it end on such a happy note. Cause I'm annoying like that ;P


	18. Time to Stop Fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I feel like these chapters keep taking forever. But I already have the next chapter all outlined. So hopefully it won't take too long to write)

Clint stumbled mindlessly along as Tasha led him forward. His breaths came in gasps that could never catch quite enough air. He collapsed down onto a sofa that seemed to appear from nowhere, curling up on himself. The tears had never stopped flowing from the second he’d woken up and his heart had transformed itself a ragged black hole that sucked everything out of him except for an unbearably aching loneliness. Phil was gone now, really gone. Even if Loki brought him back, even if he remembered every single second that Clint hadn’t dreamt of, there was still too much missing. Too many important memories that had been wiped away. His Phil was well and truly dead.

“Clint?” Natasha’s voice was loud, like she’d been trying to get his attention for a few minutes already. He blinked up at her, moving slowly, as if the whole world had been swallowed by molasses. Her face relaxed just slightly at finally getting a response. “We will fix this.Thor swore to me, he’ll watch every second of it to make sure Loki doesn’t try anything. Fury even agreed to let Stark and Jarvis have -”

“It doesn’t matter.” he mumbled, cutting her off.

“Clint.” Natasha dropped down onto the sofa next to him, resting a hand on his arm which was wrapped around his knees.

“Doesn’t matter. - Not Phil. - It’s gone. He won’t remember. - Everything important, Tash, I stole them all.”

“No.” Her voice was firm as her hand squeezed tighter on his arm. “You did nothing of the sort. That was Loki. I should never have left you alone with him. I’m sorry.”

“Too late. It’s too la-” the words choked off as his throat closed around them, leaving him gasping for air. He curled himself up tighter, trying to do anything to stop the shame and grief from swallowing him whole.

He wasn’t aware of when Natasha left, though he thought that she might have said something. He honestly didn’t care. Words were pointless. Words were hollow. Words couldn’t erase the last few days. Words couldn’t make it so that none of this had ever happened.

~;~

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there in the dark and silence. He could feel the dull thump of his heart and the shift of his ribs with each breath. But there were no thoughts. Thoughts hurt too much. He couldn’t let himself think about what might happen. For all he knew, Loki wouldn’t be able to bring Phil back at all. But if he could, well, they wouldn’t know Phil’s condition until they talked with him. And that was the very last thing Clint wanted to do.

He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable spot, when a single gold flash sparked in the center of the room. Clint knew what it was instantly. It wreaked of magic and deceit and made the gaping hole inside him have a bright blue ring of ice. Loki.

Clint didn’t even fight it this time. Everything important was already gone. There was nothing for Loki to take that Clint wanted to hold onto. At this point he may as well wipe the slate entirely clean. It would be the best thing for Phil. Erase their entire history together.

As the golden sparks gathered and grew he closed his eyes, eager for sleep. His last thought was more like a prayer, hoping that the team would let him resign and that Fury would agree to send him back on ops under a new handler. Because Clint had no doubts about the fact that Phil wouldn’t be in love with him. And without those same events and circumstances of their past, Phil never would. Clint could handle that, could live with just having Phil alive, but he didn’t think the torture of actually seeing and working with Phil would do anything to ever help him move on.

;;;

_It was early afternoon when Clint first noticed something wrong with the cube. The scientists were staggering in one by one, most still too focused on their lunch to see what Clint saw. That the tesseract was glowing just a few shades too brightly._

_Clint bit his tongue for the first hour, but as the glowing continued to grow brighter and brighter without any of the scientists paying any notice, he figured it was time to speak up. Even as he grabbed his walkie talkie he felt a deep sense of dread._

_"Dr. Selvig." He watched the man below fumble for his talkie without taking his eyes off his computer screen._

_"You wanted something?"_

_"Is it just me, or is that thing brighter today that it was yesterday?"_

_He saw Selvig falter and glance over his bank of screens to look at the cube. Clint could see the moment the scientist saw it for himself. Suddenly Clint was forgotten as Selvig started typing furiously at his computer._

_Five minutes later the rest of the room noticed the tesseract as it suddenly started sparking and throwing off waves of blue light. Watching the banks of computers below blinking with red alarm codes Clint decided now might be a good time to alert the higher ups. He skipped his walkie (too many people could overhear if they were on the right channel) and instead reached for his phone._

_Phil picked up after the first ring. “I do actually have things I need to get done today, Clint.”_

_“You may need to postpone them. The Tesseract is acting up.”_

_There was a moment of silence over the line and Clint could practically see the gears whirring in Phil’s head as he laid out exactly what needed to happen. “What do you mean, acting up?”_

_“Glowing brighter, giving off these waves of light almost. All the computers are going berserk.”_

_Phil sighed. Not his normal ‘why do i put up with junior agents instead of just kicking their asses and sending them off to Antarctica’ sigh. Or his ‘that was funny but I can’t actually laugh at it because i’m in badass mode’ sigh. Or even his ‘stop testing me sigh.’ But his ‘well, shit’ sigh. By far, Clint’s least favorite._

_“I’ll be there in two minutes. Handle things until then.”_

_“Got it, sir.”_

_Clint hung up and turned his attention to the floor below, waiting._

_Phil showed up exactly two minutes later. Clint watched as he strode through the flustered scientists and headed straight for Selvig. They spoke briefly before Phil nodded and headed from the room. Phil spared a single quick glance up at Clint and Clint could read the situation on his face. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good and they definitely weren’t prepared for it. Clint gave a small reassuring nod and a quick smile that Phil returned before striding from the room._

_~;~_

_Clint wasn’t surprised when Fury strode into the lab hours later. The facility was in full evacuation and that was likely to draw his attention. When Selvig gestured up to his perch, Clint swung down to the main floor using a rope hanging nearby; both for speed and the fact that he still was a bit of a showman at heart._

_Fury pulled him away from the scientists, walking towards the cube. “you seeing anything that might have set this thing off?”_

_Clint had been going back over the last few weeks in his head all day and there was nothing. The biggest change in the lab had been when one of the scientists had shifted her screen a few inches to make room for a new framed photo. Everything else was exactly as it had been since the day Clint showed up. Everything and everyone in the lab was clean. A fact which Clint relayed to Fury, adding. “If there was any tampering, sir, it wasn’t at this end.”_

_Fury glared at him out of his one eye. “At this end?” He sounded like maybe Clint had lost what little sense he had left._

_But Clint just explained further. “Yeah. The cube is a doorway to the other end of space, right? Doors open on both sides.”_

_Two things happened within seconds of Clint speaking. First, he saw the understanding dawn in Fury’s eyes. Second, the doorway opened in an explosion of blue light._

_The next thing Clint knew they were under attack. The man who had come through the tesseract, who had called himself Loki (and Clint instantly recognized the name from the incidents with Thor) was using some sort of spear-like weapon against them. He was moving too fast; too unpredictably. Clint couldn’t get a lock on him. Even as he fired, the bullets kept missing. Hitting the thin air where the man had been just a split second before. Clint had never seen anything like it._

_His respect turned to calmly controlled fear as the man suddenly popped up in front of Clint, grabbing his hand before he could put a gun to his head. Clint watched as Loki slowly raised the sceptre to Clint’s chest. Memories long since buried behind walls of ‘just don’t think about it’ sprang to the surface. Memories of another man, with that same maniacal glint in his eye, who had also raised a weapon to Clint’s chest and muttered something about his heart._

_Then the world turned blue._

_~;~_

_Clint felt like he was struggling to stay afloat in a storming sea. The water was pulling at him, trying to drag him downwards. It wanted to engulf him. Promising him that his death would be quick and sweet and that the water would cradle his body throughout eternity. He just had to give in. Just had to let himself stop fighting and sink below the waves and everything would be okay forever. He’d always know what he needed to do and where he needed to be. He would never have to be scared of disappointing anyone. Never have to worry about missing a shot or being unwanted._

_The water around him was an unearthly blue and it burned his throat as he accidentally swallowed mouthfuls when it pulled him under without warning._

_It was exhausting, fighting against it. The water was warm and reassuring and the air above it was cold and harsh. Every time he forced himself to keep fighting from sinking, it was harder and harder to reach the surface again. And each time he cleared the waves he saw something different._

_His arm, lifting up to fire a bullet at Fury, but that he managed to pull down just enough so that it hit Fury’s chest rather than his head._

_His body spinning to fire at Hill, and he manages again to slow his body down, giving her enough time to duck for cover. It’s too much effort and he slips below the water again, feeling like he’d been struggling for years and just wanting to be able to rest for a few minutes._

_He hears a familiar voice, muffled by the water. But he knows it. He has to get back to the surface, just this one last time. Because he can’t let it take her. He’ll gladly give in and let the energy of the waves pull him under forever, he just has to do this last thing first._

_Clint breached the surface again in an explosion of pain. But the pain creates an island, a small little piece of land that he can climb onto and get out of the water. He flopped down onto it, and blinked open his eyes. And there she is, standing over him and he knows that she was the one who saved him. The one who threw him a life raft and dragged him out of the water that even now was lapping against the shore, trying to reach him again. But it was okay now. She would keep him safe. And Clint finally let himself stop fighting._

;;;

Clint woke up curled into a ball on a couch in an office he didn’t recognize. Something felt different somehow. Not the strange location, not the fact that even right now Loki was working to save Phil. There was something else, something he couldn’t quite place. Then it hit him. He had woken up slowly. Not screaming or flailing or starting out of a dream-memory. He could remember where the dream had ended and he knew that there had been hours since then where he had been sleeping dreamlessly.

That was it then. The only chance Clint had of ever seeing Phil again was if Loki kept his end of the bargain.

 


	19. Two Minutes Untill Goodbye

Clint had only been awake a few minutes when there was a soft knock at the office door. Tasha eased it open, slipping inside quietly. He immediately started scanning for any clue on her face but it was too blank even for him to read.

"Tasha?" His voice cracked and he tried again as she sat down next to him on the sofa. "Tash, what happened with Phil?"

She turned so they were eye to eye. "He's on a respirator but the doctors are hopeful."

"He's alive?" Clint felt his whole body sag in relief. A weight he hadn't even been fully aware of bled away so fast that his head was spinning. Phil. _His_ Phil was back and alive and, maybe not breathing on his own, but at least his heart was beating.

"Are you okay?" Tasha grabbed Clint's arm, and her hand was shaking. He looked down at it, only then realizing that it was actually his own arms that were trembling. He focused on steadying himself, taking in a few deep breaths.

"He's alive, Tasha. Of course I'm okay."

"Despite the fact that we have no idea if or when he'll wake up? And that we have no idea what he remembers?" Her words were soft, full of a rare concern.

"It doesn't matter." He shook his head, trying to keep his own thoughts from spinning out of control in sheer relief. "Even if he has no memory of me at all. If he remembers everything else but just not me, then I'll be happy. Because at least he is alive. At least he's here and fine and that's more than I ever thought I'd get to have again."

"Clint" Natasha was going to warn him to not expect too much. He knew it. She was going to remind him that maybe seeing Phil again and not being able to have him would be worse than him being dead. It was all of the things that Clint had already told himself multiple times.

"I mean it Tasha. I'm okay with anything that happens." He squeezed her hand, hoping it would reassure her despite the still small hint of doubt he felt.

;;;;

The walk down to Medical was eerily silent. Clint glanced at a clock and saw that it was nearly noon. The halls should have been packed with people but they hardly saw anyone. The people they did see would drop their eyes to avoid looking at Clint and he couldn't decide if it was residual unease after Clint having led the attack on the Helicarrier just days before or if maybe the rumor mill had been working overtime and everyone already knew Phil was alive.

His concern was fleeting compared to his joy at the fact that Phil was just a few floors away. Alive. That Clint would get to see him again.

The anticipation started to turn to unease as they finally reached the stark white halls of Medical. The voice of doubt growing louder and louder with each step towards Phil's room. There were so many what ifs. So many possibilities and options. So many things that could go wrong. He barely had time to run through some of the more terrifying possibilities before they were stopping outside of a room and Tasha was opening the door and ushering him inside.

Clint hesitated in the doorway. The room beyond was full of people. Doctors and nurses still circling the bed with clipboards and tools. Banner was among them, Stark hovering just behind, both trying to be of help and not quite certain how to do so. Thor was off to one side answering the questions that the medics were rapid firing at him. Questions about magic and Loki and just what they could hope to expect in the coming hours and days in terms of Coulson’s health.

Steve was in the far corner, standing guard over everything. The look on his face left no doubt in Clint’s mind of the lengths he would go through in order to ensure no one else dared to harm Coulson. Tasha moved to go stand beside him, leaving Clint alone to process the one other person whom he had been deliberately overlooking.

Phil was in a just a hospital gown, the pale fabric only highlighting how white his skin was. Too white. The only spots of color were the wires and tubes poked into his skin. Clint’s eyes focused on Phil’s chest, watching for a rise and fall to signal that yes, he was actually here; that he was alive. But the doctors moving back and forth across his line of sight made it impossible.

Even with the steady beeping of the heart monitor Clint felt his anxiety spiking. He had to know for absolute certain. Had to feel the pulse below his fingers and see Phil’s chest rise and fall. Only then could he truly allow himself to believe.

He didn’t realize he was moving until he found himself standing at Phil’s side, arms reaching out instinctively. One of the doctors with some sort of scanner tried to push him aside. Clint stood his ground, fixing the doctor with a glare until the man cowered and backed away. Then Clint was squatting down, getting himself level with Phil. He placed two fingers on the pulse point in Phil’s wrist. And there it was. Thready and slow and far too weak, but it was there. The steady thump-thump that meant that this was real. Phil was really here, really alive again.

;;;

Clint never moved from the room as the doctors continued to fuss. He perched on the back of one of the hard plastic chairs. Stark eventually plopped down in the other chair, busily typing away at his tablet. Clint would glance down at the screen every so often, but the diagrams and streams of numbers made no sense to him.

The time seemed to drag, minutes turning into hours. The doctors slowly filtered out one-by-one to do more research in a lab or attend other tasks. Until it was only the Avengers left in the room.

Eventually Natasha cleared her throat. “We need to get going.”

Clint’s head whipped around so quickly that he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Go where?!” Because there was no way he was leaving this room.

“We still need to see off Thor as he escorts Loki back to Asgard.” Steve said. It was the first words Clint had heard him say all day.

“Have fun.” Clint turned away dismissively.

“I really think we all need to do this. Together.” Steve’s voice was shifting into his Cap tone. “We need to display unity right now.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not leaving.” Clint was trying to stay calm but could feel himself failing. He’d just gotten Phil back, he wasn’t about to go away again so soon. “So you can take your unity and shove it.”

“Clint.” Natasha warned and he glanced up long enough to see her motioning for Cap and the others to leave the room. Which they did. All filing out quickly and silently so that it was just Clint and Tasha. He let his gaze shift back to studying Phil as she sat in the chair Stark had just vacated. “He’s alive, Clint. He’s here and he’s safe and he’s alive. That won’t change whether you are here or not. Do you really think Fury is going to let anything happen to him?”

“Fury already let him die once.” Clint grumbled. “And Phil will be safer with me standing guard. You know that.”

“We are -”

“Tasha,” Clint cut her off, his voice barely a whisper. “When Phil wakes up, everything will be different. If what Loki said is even somewhat true then there will be large chunks of Phil’s life that he won’t remember. Good things and bad things. Hass and Budapest and... and our wedding. All of it will be gone and I’ll be just another asset again. This is my last chance to be with him, Tasha. I only have until he wakes up to keep sitting here and calling him my husband. So please, please do not ask me to walk away from him right now.”

“We’re part of a team now, Clint. A team Phil gave his life to make happen. Think of it as a good way to honor his sacrifice."

"I just can't leave him…"

Tasha stood up and smoothed out her clothes. "You have two minutes. Then we're going. End of discussion." It was her ‘I will drag you out of here if you make me” voice. She walked out of the room, leaving him alone with Phil.

Clint didn’t waste a single second. He moved from his perch on the chair, crossing to sit on the edge of the bed and gripping Phil’s hand with both of his own. He rubbed one thumb across the smooth and still too-cold skin. This would probably be the last time he got to do this. He lifted Phil’s hand, cautious of the tubes poking out of it, and gently kissed it.

“I guess, in a way, this is goodbye.” His words were so soft that they were nearly drowned out by the beeping and whirring of the machines. Clint wanted to lean over and give Phil one final kiss but the respirator was in the way. He settled for placing a quick kiss to Phil’s forehead; just some sort of connection before everything changed. “I’m going to miss you and I’m going to hate seeing you around all of the time and never getting to have you. But you know what, it’s worth it. Because you’re here and you’re real and you’re alive and I would do anything to make sure you stay that way. Just try not to go hunting down any more gods while i’m incapacitated and can’t watch your back.”

Clint squeezed Phil’s hand tighter, as if maybe he could cling to the life they used to have. His fingers brushed one of the scars along Phil’s wrist left there by Hass. That was some small consolation. That, if Phil didn’t remember Clint, then he wouldn’t remember Hass either. Not the torture, or watching Clint being tortured, or the way it led to their first kiss. Clint choked back a sob as he realized just how much of the last few years would be stipped away from Phil.

A small knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts. He kissed Phil’s hand one last time before walking from the room, ignoring the look of concern from Tasha as he stepped past her without looking back.


End file.
